REESE   LIBRARY 


THE    UNITY   OF    GOD   AND    MAN 


PREACHED    AT   BEDFORD    CHAPEL,    BLOOMSBURY, 


REV.  STOPFORD  A.   BROOKE,   M.A, 

H 


BOSTON: 
GEORGE    H.    ELLIS,     141,    FRANKLIN    STREET, 

MDCCCLXXXVI. 


3 


A3 


PREFACE. 


THE  Sermons  included  in  this  volume  have  appeared  at 
various  times,  in  a  private  publication,  and  I  have  thought 
that  the  public  might,  perhaps,  care  to  read  them.  They 
have  been  carefully  revised  and  corrected. 

The  two  discourses  on  Joshua  do  not  include  any  state- 
ment concerning  the  authenticity  of  the  history,  but  the 
remarks  at  the  beginning  of  the  following  sermon  on  Lot 
and  Abraham  state  the  way  in  which  I  look  upon,  and 
consider  these  early  Old  Testament  stories. 

STOPFORD   A.    BROOKE. 

i,  MANCHESTER  SQUARE, 
May  I,  1886. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  UNITY  OK  GOD  AND  MAN 6 

Do.         (continued) 14 

Do.         (continued) 23 

THE  WANDERING  SHEEP 34 

ETERNAL  PUNISHMENT 45 

THE  COMMUNION  OF  SAINTS  61 

ATONEMENT 71 

Do.         (continued) 82 

Do.         (continued) 94 

THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER  OF  JOSHUA no 

Do.          (continued) 126 

THE  LATER  CHOICE  OF  LIFE 143 

FALSE  FERVOUR  OF  HEART 155 

THE  FERVOUR  THAT  SEEKS  MONOTONY  166 

THE  EDUCATION  OF  FERVOUR  OF  SPIRIT  177 

YOUTH. — FERVENT  IN  SPIRIT 188 

MIDDLE  AGE. — NOT  SLOTHFUL  IN  BUSINESS 201 

OLD  AGE. — SERVING  THE  LORD   212 


SERMONS. 

[June  7,  1885.] 
THE    UNITY  OF   GOD  AND  MAN. 

"  I  and  my  Father  are  one." — JOHN  x.  30. 

THIS  mighty  saying  proclaims  by  the  lips  of  Jesus  the  ancient 
truth  suggested  in  the  first  of  the  Hebrew  books,  that  man 
is  the  image  of  God.  It  is  the  highest  of  the  disclosures 
made  by  Jesus  concerning  Man.  Indeed,  all  that  he  has 
told  us  of  humanity  is  contained  in  it.  Embodied  now  and 
then  in  casual  phrase  by  prophets  of  other  races,  hidden  in 
myth  and  legend,  Jesus  was  the  first  who  declared  it  roundly, 
clearly,  boldly,  and  left  it  to  mankind.  And  it  was  not 
understood  by  those  who  came  after  him.  They  could  not 
believe  that  he  said  it  as  a  man,  in  the  name  of  humanity. 
Therefore,  not  wishing  to  deny  his  words,  they  declared 
that  Jesus  said  it,  as  God,  about  himself  and  God. 

The  true,  and  the  more  practical  view  is,  that  Jesus, 
when  he  said  these  words,  and  others  of  the  same  meaning, 
said  them,  knowing  and  feeling  himself  to  be  nothing  more 
than  a  man ;  said  in  them  that  which  was,  in  idea,  true  of 
all  the  human  race,  which  ought  to  be  true  of  every  man, 
and  which  in  the  future  will  be  true  of  all  men.  There 
is  none  who,  having  grown  to  the  measure  of  the  stature  of 


6  The  Unity  of  God  and  Man. 

the  fulness  of  Christ,  will  not  be  able  hereafter  to  say  with 
him — I  and  my  Father  are  one. 

It  is  the  right  and  destiny  of  the  human  race  which  are 
proclaimed  in  these  words — Man  is  at  one  with  God.  That 
is  the  Magna  Charta  of  our  religion;  the  idea  by  which 
we  live,  towards  which  we  strive;  the  idea  which  will 
certainly  become  fact  for  all  of  us.  It  was  the  voice  of 
Jesus ;  the  voice  of  his  revelation.  It  is  the  voice  now  in 
our  hearts  whereby  we  cry — Abba,  Father ;  and  our  con- 
viction of  it  is  supported  by  the  daily  growth  of  the 
spiritual  life. 

I  will  take  it  here  as  the  theory  by  which  we  may  best 
explain  the  conceptions  man  in  general  has  conceived  of 
God.  There  are  other  theories,  of  course,  both  Christian 
and  unchristian,  spiritual  and  materialistic ;  but  as  this  was 
the  assumption,  the  revelation,  of  Jesus,  let  us  see  what  it 
does  when  we  bring  up  to  it  for  explanation  the  main  ideas 
of  God  which  mankind  possesses. 

We  certainly  have  conceptions  of  God.  How  did  we  gain 
them  ?  According  to  this  theory — according,  in  another 
way  of  stating  it,  to  this  revelation  of  Jesus — we  gain  them 
from  God  Himself  in  us.  The  divine  attributes  belong  to 
us  in  part.  We  realize  them  imperfectly,  portions  of  them  ; 
we  are  conscious  of  their  imperfection  in  us ;  conscious  of 
their  partial  quality  in  us ;  and  immediately  we  desire  and 
imagine  their  perfection,  and  in  this  effort  we  dimly  con- 
ceive Deity.  The  idea  of  God  in  us  is  the  idea  of  our  own 
spiritual  nature,  made  pure  and  infinite  in  thought.  It  is 
not  in  a  figure  that  we  are  like  God,  but  in  reality.  We  con- 
ceive His  attributes  because  we  share  in  them. 


IRNIA^ 

Again,  God  is  intelligence,  pure  intelligence.  How  do  we 
come  to  think  that  ?  We  conceive  it  by  and  through  our 
own  intelligence.  Through  our  limited  intelligence  we  can 
conceive  the  illimitable  Intelligence — because  what  there  is  of 
it  in  us  is  the  same  in  kind  as  it  is  in  God.  The  light  and 
fire  and  life  of  thought  of  which  we  are  aware,  through  their 
partial  manifestation  in  ourselves,  we  proceed  to  conceive  of 
as  absolute  and  perfect,  and  in  doing  so  we  think  of  God 
and  shape  Him  before  us — we  shape  supreme  Intelligence. 

Again,  how  do  we  know  of  God's  goodness,  of  His  love  ? 
Not  from  without  us,  not  primarily  from  revelation,  but  by 
the  goodness  and  love  we  have  within  us  !  They  are  God's 
character  in  us ;  and  when  we  are  lifted  over  sin  in  conquest, 
or  are  ardent  in  the  hour  of  some  great  sacrifice,  then  we 
know  that  we  are  so  far — in  the  action  of  the  powers  of 
goodness  and  love — at  one  with  God ;  and  with  a  rush  of 
unconscious  faith,  we  multiply  our  love  and  goodness 
infinitely,  and  behold  our  God. 

And  when  that  inward  law  within,  whereby  we  approve  of 
righteousness  and  hate  sin,  speaks  clear  and  loud,  and  calls 
us  to  obey  it ;  when  abiding  in  it  we  are  conscious  of  an 
infinite  Right  and  Truth,  of  a  mighty  authority  without  us, 
and  in  us,  whereby  all  things  are  bound,  to  which  God  Him- 
self binds  Himself,  and  which  His  will,  self-determined, 
obeys — why  have  we  these  thoughts?  What  means  this 
vast  and  sublime  imperative  ?  How  is  it  that  we  know  it  ? 

It  is  because  we  are  partakers  of  God's  moral  nature, 
because  we  are  made  in  His  image,  because  we  and  the 
Father  are  one. 

It  is  not  we  alone  then  who  have  wrought  this,  who  have 


8  The  Unity  of  God  and  Man. 

made  this  God  out  of  our  own  fancies,  built  Him  up  out  of 
our  wants  and  thoughts,  developed  Him,  while  He  has  no 
real  existence  !  There  are  folk  whose  intellect  that  theory 
satisfies  ;  there  are  others  who  are  afraid  that  theory  is  true. 
I  am  sorry  for  both  of  them ;  but  death  at  least  will  settle 
the  questioning  of  the  one  and  the  trouble  of  the  other ; 
and  death  is  not  far  away.  But  for  us,  it  is  better  to  have 
another  faith  while  we  live,  and  to  hear  in  our  hearts  those 
words — "  O  fools  and  slow  of  heart  to  believe  all  that  the 
prophets  have  spoken."  Our  theory,  our  faith  is — That  it 
is  God  who,  thinking  through  our  thought,  loving  through 
our  love,  has  built  up  in  man  man's  thought  of  Him, 
woven  into  our  nature  our  love  of  Himself,  our  knowledge 
of  Him  as  love.  It  is  the  Father  in  the  child  who  has 
made  known  the  Father.  We  and  the  Father  are  one. 

Others  say  that  it  is  from  without  us,  from  the  uni- 
verse and  its  work  on  the  perceptions,  that  we  conceive 
God. 

In  truth  God  is  in  the  universe ;  in  everything  His 
thought  appears  to  us !  But  appears  to  what  ?  If  the 
universe  be  only  matter,  of  course  it  speaks  only  to 
matter  in  us;  and  there  it  ends  for  the  materialists. 
They  are  now  a  few  and  feeble  folk,  and  need  not  be 
considered.  But  if  it  be  Thought  that  energizes  in  the 
universe,  why  then,  it  speaks  to  thought  and  its  powers  in 
us ;  and  we  understand  what  is  doing  in  the  universe  because 
we  are  capable  of  doing  the  same  kind  of  things  ourselves. 
It  is  because  we  can  ourselves  create,  that  we  can  compre- 
hend creation.  It  is  because  we  can  design,  apportion 
means  to  an  end,  conceive  a  whole,  that  we  can  discover 


The  Unity  of  God  and  Man.  9 

design,  see  the  means  whereby  Nature,  as  we  call  it,  reaches 
its  ends,  find  out  and  grasp  the  ideas  on  which  the  whole  is 
built,  and  then  approach  the  conception  of  the  whole.  It 
is  because  we  are  wise  within  to  feel  beauty,  and  to  reverence 
what  is  noble,  that  we  see  beauty  in  the  universe,  and  bend 
before  its  sublimity  in  the  loving  awe  which  is  the  true 
mother  of  all  the  arts.  Here  also  we  see  God  by  God's 
own  light  in  us,  because  we  are  by  nature  at  one  with  Him. 
The  glory  of  God's  thought  in  the  universe  is  seen  by  the 
light  of  thought  in  ourselves.  It  is  not  from  the  outward 
we  gain  our  conception  of  God  in  Nature,  it  is  from  God 
Himself  in  us. 

But  God  is  infinite,  and  men  say,  He  is  incomprehensible 
by  the  finite.  As  a  whole,  and  at  present,  yes  !  But 
apart  from  the  truth  that  we  are  not,  in  one  sense 
of  the  word,  finite  at  all,  for  we  are  destined  to  endless 
development  and  life — our  existence  being  conter- 
minous with  the  existence  of  God — there  is  this  also  to 
be  said,  that  our  thought  and  love  and  noble  power 
(being,  as  we  assume,  of  God,)  have  always  the  quality 
of  their  source.  Their  essence  is  always  the  same, 
however  vast  the  distance  between  the  degrees  of  them. 
The  infinite  is  always  the  infinite. 

We  cannot  call  God  love  without  feeling  love,  nor 
imagine  Him  as  thought  without  having  thought ;  and  love 
is  the  same  in  kind  for  ever  and  in  all  things ;  and  so  is 
thought.  The  smallest  conception  is,  by  its  very  nature, 
always  infinite.  The  faintest  movement  of  love  is  eternal. 
The  heat  of  the  candle  is  the  same  in  kind  as  the  heat 
of  the  sun,  and  is  the  light  and  the  heat  of  the  sun. 


io  The  Unity  of  God  and  Man. 

Moreover,  we  do  conceive  infinity ;  and  we  could  not 
conceive  it  had  we  not  a  nature  which  had  kinship  with 
it.  We  ascribe  it  to  God,  because  we  are  of  its  character. 
We  believe  in  it,  because  we  possess  its  powers  in  the 
midst  of  our  limitations.  We  aspire  towards  more  and 
more  of  it,  because  we  are  capable  of  more  and  more  of  it. 

In  all  high  action  for  unattained  truth  ;  in  original  con- 
ceptions ;  in  their  creation  into  form  ;  in  imagination's  rush 
beyond  the  stars;  in  the  long  desire  after  ideal  beauty;  in  the 
unwearied  pursuit  of  knowledge  ;  in  the  dreams  of  unknown 
joy ;  in  the  unfathomable  depths  of  human  love  ;  in  the 
martyr's  moral  power  when  he  dies  for  truth  ;  in  that  might 
of  the  soul  which  conquers  and  despises  all  the  force 
of  the  world  ;  in  the  immeasurable  rapture  of  men  in  death 
when  they  see  God  and  feel  the  first  leap  within  them 
of  the  immortal  life ;  in  the  mystery  of  awe  we  have 
amid  the  storm  ;  in  the  absoluteness  of  our  quiet  when  we 
are  satisfied  with  the  peace  of  the  summer ;  in  the  infinite 
delight  which  eternal  beauty,  seen  through  all  art,  bestows 
on  us  and  in  the  inspiration  which  it  kindles ;  in  our 
certainty  of  an  infinite  of  beauty  beyond  all  that  Nature 
presents  to  us  and  art  embodies,  and  in  our  immediate 
creation  of  the  conception  of  that  beauty ;  in  the  power  of 
faith  that  can  remove  mountains  ;  in  a  thousand  thousand 
things — each  a  fact  of  our  actual  life — the  spirit  is  always 
rushing  beyond  its  limits,  knows  that  it  has  wants,  and 
an  end  which  only  more  and  more  of  the  infinite,  more 
of  that  which  it  has  in  part,  can  set  at  rest.  Well,  what 
theory  best  explains  these  perceptions,  these  conceptions  ? 
They  are  facts.  It  is  known  that  the  human  race  has  felt 


T/ie   Unity  of  God  and  Man.  II 

and  thought  these  things.  Is  it  the  theory  which  says  they 
are  developed  in  the  movement  of  eternal  matter,  or  is  it  our 
theory— that  God  Himself,  being  infinite,  has  entered  into 
His  children,  developed  in  them  the  thought  of  His  own 
infinity,  and  that  they  themselves  are  infinite  in  Him  ? 

That  at  least  is  our  view.  The  infinite  of  God  has 
itself  in  us.  It  knows  itself  in  us  ;  we  are  one  of  its  forms. 
It  is  not  a  belief  of  it  that  we  have,  it  is  an  actual  feeling, 
and  it  becomes  a  fact  of  consciousness.  It  is  a  mistake  to  call 
ourselves  finite.  We  are  God's  children,  of  His  nature,  born 
in  His  image,  at  one  with  the  Father,  and  infinite  in  Him. 

This,  then,  is  the  most  glorious  truth  which  we  can 
believe  and  know.  If  God  be  the  absolute  goodness, 
if  He  be  the  source  and  end  of  truth  and  love  and  justice, 
then  there  is  no  good  so  great  as  to  be  like  Him  ;  no  grace 
so  great  as  to  be  loved  by  Him  ;  no  gift  so  supreme  as  the 
gift  of  Himself.  To  have  intellectual  and  moral  kinship 
with  Him,  to  have  a  heart  beating  with  a  love  that  resembles 
His,  to  be  a  spirit  that  hungers  and  thirsts  to  be  at  one  with 
His  righteousness,  to  grow  into  union  with  His  perfection,  to 
be  His  children  through  unity  of  Nature — ail  other  joys  and 
blessings  are,  like  rivers  that  stream  into  the  ocean,  borne 
into  and  accomplished  in  that  sea  of  happiness.  "  In  His 
presence  is  fulness  of  joy,  and  at  His  right  hand  are  pleasures 
for  evermore."  Therefore,  our  chief  work  in  life  is  to  grow 
out  of  our  imperfect  likeness  to  God  into  His  perfect 
likeness ;  to  know  absolutely  Him,  and  His  life — in 
Himself,  and  in  the  universe,  and  in  ourselves — in  thought 
and  love,  in  form  and  action.  And  this,  our  chief  work, 
will  become  our  chief  delight. 


[  2  The  Unity  of  God  and  Man. 

For  only  as  we  are  like  Him  can  we  enjoy  Him  and  His 
universe.  Only  as  we  realize  more  of  that  divine  life 
to  which  we  aspire  can  we  get  the  pleasure  out  of  it. 
It  is  the  pure  in  heart  who  see  purity,  and  whom  it 
makes  happy.  It  is  those  who  love  who  can  know  love, 
and  to  whom  it  is  unbounded  joy.  It  is  they  who  are  of 
the  truth,  who  hear  truth's  voice,  to  whom  it  is  the  music 
of  the  world.  It  is  they  who  see,  and  know,  and  hear  these 
things  who  become  consciously  at  one  with  God.  God  is 
ours  when  we  become  God,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  use  a 
paradox.  As  we  grow  up  into  Him,  the  union  becomes 
personal.  He  is  here,  in  our  hearts.  We  feel  His  touch 
upon  the  chords  of  the  spirit.  He  mingles  with  us,  thinks 
through  our  thought,  speaks  in  our  speech,  sees  through 
our  eyes,  loves  in  our  love ;  and  is  beyond  them  all — as 
holy  fire,  swift  inspiration,  educating  watchfulness,  tender 
care.  Our  pleasures  are  for  evermore  !  Being  like  Him, 
we  rejoice  in  Him. 

Then,  having  learnt  to  rejoice  in  His  moral  and  spiritual 
being,  we  pass  on  to  rejoice  in  His  ideas,  and  in  the 
beauty  into  which  they  are  shaped.  We  understand  and  love 
the  universe.  Understand  it !  As  the  Natural  philoso- 
pher ?  No  !  We  may  not  know  all  its  secrets,  nor  be  able 
to  analyze  it.  But  glorious  as  is  the  pleasure  of  the  philoso- 
pher if  he  keep  his  reverence  and  be  not  the  slave  of  mere 
knowledge,  we,  even  without  scientific  knowledge,  can  see 
the  thoughts  on  which  the  universe  is  built  as  the  poet  sees 
them,  as  Job  saw  them  of  old,  as  millions  saw  them  long 
before  one  ray  of  science  illumined  the  world.  These 
majestic  thoughts  fill  us  with  awe,  and  exalt  us  with  their 


<?/  GW  and  Man. 

glory.  God's  thought  has  become  one  with  us,  and  then, 
rejoicing  in  His  thought,  we  pass  onwards  into  union  with 
the  passion  and  love  which,  flowing  from  God's  joy,  pervade 
the  universe.  We  feel,  and  know  why  we  feel,  the  beauty 
of  the  world.  It  is  God's  own  loveliness  and  harmony 
which  from  all  Nature  streams  through  us,  and  disturbs 
us  into  joy,  and  excites  us  with  illimitable  variety, 
inimitably  inter-woven.  The  lowliest  flower  speaks  to  us 
of  Him,  the  mightiest  mountain  lifts  its  head  in  prayer  to 
Him,  the  sea  chants  of  His  beauty,  and  the  everlasting  stars 
reply.  And  all  that  we  feel,  we  feel  because  we  are  His 
children,  because  we  and  the  Father  are  one. 

Lastly,  from  the  universe,  we  turn  to  all  mankind.  It, 
too,  is  pervaded  with  God ;  and  when  we  love  and  rejoice  in 
Him,  we  begin  to  love  and  rejoice  with  Him  in  humanity. 
This  was  the  thought  that  made  the  very  life  of  Jesus.  He 
saw — in  all  the  pure  original  feelings  of  man,  in  all  the 
ways  that  love  acted  between  men  and  men,  in  the  desires 
and  longings  of  the  soul,  in  the  imagination,  conscience,, 
intellect  of  man — his  Father's  nature  and  qualities,  believed 
in  them  in  us,  loved  them,  and  rejoiced.  Men  and  his 
Father  were  one,  as  he  and  his  Father  were  one. 

Therefore  Jesus  had  an  undying  hope,  the  hope  that  we 
should  possess,  and  by  which  we  should  live.  It  was  more 
than  hope,  it  was  certainty.  He  knew,  and  rejoiced  to 
know,  that,  when  the  evil  in  man  was  overthrown,  every 
conscious  spirit  that  had  ever  been  born  into  the  earth., 
would  come  at  last  to  say  with  his  own  conviction — "I  and 
the  Father  are  one." 


[June  14,   1885.] 

THE    UNITY  OF  GOD  AND  MAN. 
"  I  and  my  Father  are  one." — JOHN  x.  30. 

IT  was  perhaps  the  worst  evil  of  the  old  monarchies  and 
imperialisms    that    kings    and    emperors    were    practically 
thought  to  have  a  nature  different  from  that  of  their  subjects, 
and  to  be  severed  from  them*  by  a  great  gulf;  and  it  was  none 
the  better  but  rather  the  worse  for  humanity  when  that  notion 
was  transferred   to  a  whole  class,   as   to   the   noblesse   of 
France  ;  and  the  king  was  considered  to  be  the  first  gentle- 
man in  the  caste.     For  then,  not  only  one,  but  a  great  num- 
ber of  men  and  women  were  degraded  by  this  false  opinion, 
that  is,  by  an  opinion  which  was  against  Nature ;  lived  by 
it  in  a  ruinous  isolation,  and  did  the  deeds  which  naturally 
flowed    from    it — and  their  deeds    were    abominable.     It 
was    no    wonder,    considering    that    in    France    this   view 
was  more  plainly  attacked  and  its  iniquities  more  painfully 
felt   than   in  other  parts  of  Europe,    that  the  Revolution 
broke   out   first  in  France.     And   the   first   thing   it    said 
was  said   by    St.   Paul   at   Athens,   and  was  derived  from 
Jesus  Christ.     "God  hath  made  of  one  blood  all  nations 
on  the  face  of  the  whole  earth." 

It  was  natural,  since  men  calling  themselves  Christians 
came  to  take  up  that  imperialistic  view,  that  it  should  be 
said  to  belong  to  the  origins  of  Christianity.  But  that  was 


The  Unity  of  God  and  Man.  15 

not  the  case.  It  stole  into  Christianity  from  the  East,  and  was 
developed  then  by  the  Imperialism  of  Rome ;  and  in  accord- 
ance with  it  God  was  made  an  Emperor.  He  was  divided  in 
nature  from  His  subjects  ;  He  might  do  as  He  willed  with 
them,  because  He  had  the  power ;  and  they  could  only 
approach  Him  through  the  ministers  of  His  court.  This 
is  a  view  which  still  continues,  and  it  is  as  false  and  as 
fatal  to  a  true  religion  or  a  true  society  as  the  view  taken 
by  the  king  and  the  nobles  was  to  the  society  and  the 
policy  which  the  Revolution  overthrew.  No  truce  should 
be  kept  with  that  view ;  the  sword  of  the  intellect  and  the 
spirit  should  never  be  sheathed  till  it  is  overthrown ;  and  if 
in  order  to  destroy  it  we  have  to  go  through  a  period  of 
partial  denial  of  God  and  abjuration  of  religion,  we  can 
bear  that  trouble,  if  only  this  evil  doctrine  be  over- 
thrown. It  seems  we  must  go  through  such  a  period, 
for  indeed  we  are  living  in  it ;  but  at  least,  some  of  us  may 
keep  our  heads  and  guard  our  hearts,  and — without  drop- 
ping into  the  curious  condition  of  Atheism,  or  into  that 
ill-fortuned  decay  of  love  and  of  imagination  which  comes 
from  a  denial  of  all  religion — realize  the  higher  view  of 
God  and  human  society  to  which  even  Science  itself,  the 
very  cause  of  so  much  of  our  disbelief,  is  leading  us  day  by 
day.  When  the  idea  of  God  as  conceived  by  Christ  is 
clear,  and  the  idea  of  Man  that  is  contained  in  it  is  fully 
grasped,  no  one  will  dream  of  disbelieving  in  God,  or  of 
thinking  that  any  man  is  capable  of  altogether  dying. 

It  is,  I  believe,  considered  a  mark  of  high  and  emanci- 
pated intellect,  and,  strangely  enough,  of  bold  imagination, 
even  of  noble  emotion,  to  have  given  up  the  faiths  of  God 


1 6  The  Unity  of  God  and  Man. 

and  of  immortality.  It  is,  in  reality,  want  of  intellectual 
grasp,  or  enfeebled  imagination,  or  the  dwindling  of  the 
powers  of  the  heart  which  have  chiefly  produced  the  denial 
of  God  and  of  immortality  on  the  side  of  unbelief,  and  the 
base  views  of  God  and  of  immortality  on  the  side  of  orthodox 
theology.  I  do  not  know  which  is  most  sorrowful — to  say 
that  there  is  no  God,  or  to  say  that  He  is  like  an  irrespon- 
sible Eastern  Emperor ;  to  say  that  there  is  no  immortality, 
or  to  say  that  we  are,  for  the  most  part,  to  be  immortal  with 
the  devil  in  eternal  division  from  God.  The  denial  is 
perhaps  the  saddest  of  the  two,  for  it  finally  leaves  us  face 
to  face  with  pessimism. 

But  both  vanish  before  the  view  of  God  in  His  kinship  to 
man — the  view  of  Jesus  Christ — that  which  is  laid  down 
in  the  great  saying,  spoken  by  a  man  in  behalf  of  humanity, 
"  I  and  the  Father  are  one."  Man  is  then  by  nature  the 
child  of  God,  and  not  the  child  of  the  devil.  There  is  an 
individual  unity  of  nature  between  God  and  man.  Man 
cannot  be  separated  from  God,  nor  God  from  man.  The 
child  of  any  father  on  earth  may  go  astray,  wander  far 
from  his  home,  himself  deny  his  origin,  do  all  that 
his  father  dislikes  and  hates — but  the  tie  is  not  finally 
broken.  The  father,  unless  he  be  false  to  fatherhood, 
recognizes  his  relationship  all  through  the  forgetfulness 
of  the  son,  and  says  to  himself,  as  he  thinks  in  sorrow 
and  solitude — "  Yet  he  is  my  son,  mine  own.  When  he 
returns  he  shall  find  himself  at  home  ;  nay  more,  I  cannot 
bear  his  absence  ;  I  will  seek  him  till  I  find  him,  and  make 
him  at  one  with  me  in  love  and  in  character.  He  must 
suffer,  but  his  suffering  shall  burn  up  his  evil.  But  I  will 


The  Unity  of  God  and  Man.  17 

never  deny  him,  never  fling  him  away.  I  should  be  false  to 
myself  if  I  could  do  or  even  think  that  wrong." 

Is  God  different  from  that ;  less  noble,  less  worthy,  less 
loving  than  the  fatherhood  of  earth  ?  No ;  infinitely 
more  noble,  worthy  and  loving  !  There  is  no  earthly  tie 
so  close  as  that  which  binds  God  to  His  children  on  earth. 
It  were  more  easy  to  annihilate  the  universe  than  to  destroy 
that  immortal  bond.  The  Child  and  the  Father  are  one. 

And  to  be  a  father,  what  is  it  ?  It  is  to  give  our  own 
nature  and  our  own  life  to  beings  kindred  with  ourselves, 
and  to  educate  them  into  a  full  likeness  to  ourselves.  The 
bond  is  not  only  a  bond  of  birthj  it  is  a  spiritual,  intel- 
lectual, moral  and  loving  bond.  And  God  is  Father  when, 
having  created  us  akin  to  Himself,  he  educates  us  into  union 
with  His  intelligence,  His  righteousness,  His  love,  and  into 
those  powers  in  Him  by  which  He  creates  all  that  gives  joy 
and  embodies  beauty ;  so  that  we  may  be  His  fellow  workmen 
in  the  universe,  immortal  as  Himself,  and  only  less  infinite 
in  that  while  He  always  is,  we  are  always  becoming. 

If  these  things  be  true,  what  is  our  religion  ?  It  is  to 
believe  in  this  bond  between  us  and  God,  to  live  in  the  love 
of  it,  to  feel  all  the  emotions  that  flow  from  it,  and  to  do  all 
the  deeds  to  which  this  faith  and  love  impel  us.  It  is  to 
worship  Him  whom  we  thus  conceive  ;  to  worship  a  God 
akin  to  us,  whose  moral,  intellectual,  loving  nature  is  the 
same  in  kind  as  our  own  ;  who  is  the  perfection  of  our 
spiritual  being ;  who  is  within  us  a  Presence  so  vital,  power- 
ful and  creative,  that  we  are  enabled  to  grow  into  His  very 
image ;  and  who,  in  proportion  as  we  grow,  communicates 
to  us,  in  fuller  and  fuller  life,  His  own  goodness,  power, 


1 8  The  Unity  of  God  and  Man. 

love  and  joy  ;  and  with  them,  and  of  them,  His  truth  and 
harmony. 

So,  then,  the  true  worship  of  God  is  to  become  that 
which  we  worship;  to  draw  nearer  to  Him  as  the  sun 
whence  light  and  purity  and  wisdom  and  power  stream  into 
our  souls.  It  is  not  to  tremble  before  Him,  but  to  have 
the  joy  and  boldness  and  humility  of  love,  and  to  do  His 
will  because  we  are  certain  it  is  for  the  perfection  of  the  race 
of  man.  It  is  to  bear  all  that  comes  upon  us  of  suffering  or 
of  trial,  knowing  that  what  is  borne  is  for  the  use  and  good 
of  the  whole  of  humanity.  It  is  always  to  believe  in  His 
order  and  His  love,  and  to  abide  patiently  the  end.  It  is  to 
feel  His  quickening  life  within  us,  making  us  immortal ;  and 
to  do  the  works  meet  for  immortality.  It  is  to  be  impassioned 
for  more  and  more  of  Him  within  us.  It  is  by  purity  to 
see  Him,  by  love  to  dwell  in  Him,  by  truth  to  know  Him, 
in  reverence  to  understand  Him,  in  humility  to  rejoice  in 
Him,  in  joy  to  abide  in  His  work,  in  power  to  do  His  work; 
and  in  all,  to  know  and  be  ravished  by  His  everlasting 
beauty. 

Is  that  a  personal  religion  which  terrifies  or  depresses, 
which  tends  to  superstition,  which  nurtures  ignorance, 
lessens  love',  enfeebles  intelligence,  degrades  our  powers, 
fetters  reason,  or  injures  conscience  ? 

On  the  contrary,  it  uplifts  us  into  courage,  for  we  fear  nothing 
but  doing  wrong.  It  raises  us  into  joy,  for  it  gives  us  endless 
life,  and  that  life  is  love.  It  destroys  superstition,  which  is 
the  offspring  of  ignorance  and  fear  of  God,  for  it  makes  us 
know  God  and  love  what  we  know,  and  perfect  love  casts 
out  all  fear.  It  kindles  love,  for  it  reveals  eternal  beauty. 


The  Unity  of  God  and  Man.  19 

It  makes  us  reverence  all  intelligence,  for  every  spark  of 
intellect  is  divine — His  own,  who  is  the  Fount  of  Thought, 
the  beginning  ancUhe  end  of  Truth.  It  sets  the  reason  free, 
for  to  use  it  is  to  use  His  gift.  It  delivers  the  conscience 
when  it  is  injured  by  theological  authority,  for  what  God 
gave  we  may  not  deny.  It  ennobles  the  powers  of  man, 
for  we  use  them  as  the  powers  of  God. 

And  so  indeed  He  wills  it  should  be  with  us,  who  begat 
us  of  His  own  good  will,  and  cherished  us  in  youth,  and 
trained  us  to  be  men,  and  keeps  us  through  old  age  to  His 
Eternal  Kingdom — God,  with  whom  we  are  at  one  for  ever. 
This  is  our  personal  religion  !  What  our  religion,  on  the 
same  grounds,  ought  to  be  in  our  life  with  men,  I  shall  speak 
of  next  Sunday.  Meanwhile,  let  me  dwell  for  a  little  on 
what  power  this  union  with  God  should  give  us  in  the  course 
of  human  life. 

All  our  true  life  is  made  up  of  work,  and  joy,  and  sorrow, 
and  growth.  With  regard  to  Work,  into  which  we  shape  all  our 
inward  being,  it  is,  in  this  idea,  the  work  also  of  God.  It  is 
He  who  works  through  our  hand  in  manual  labour ;  it  is  He 
who  speaks  through  all  we  do  in  business ;  it  is  He  who 
shapes  our  thought  and  passion  on  the  canvass,  into  the 
marble,  through  the  music  that  we  make,  and  the  buildings 
that  we  frame  for  the  worship  or  the  use  of  men.  It  is  He 
who  writes  with  us  on  all  the  subjects  of  human  thought  and 
experiment,  who  leads  us  into  all  science,  who  forms  the 
drama  and  builds  the  poem.  It  is  He  who  with  us  heals 
the  sick,  and  preaches  the  Gospel,  and  frames  the  law,  and 
defends  the  right,  and  governs  the  nation — and  in  that 
belief  all  work  is  sanctified,  guarded  by  conscience,  freed 

B  2 


2O  The  Unity  of  God  and  Man. 

from  the  world,  ennobled  by  an  ideal,  enkindled  by  love, 
triumphant  in  failure,  finished  with  joy  even  though  it  be 
finished  on  the  Cross. 

And  as  to  Joy,  it  does  not,  if  we  hold  it  within  this  idea  of 
natural  union  with  God,  remain  within  ourselves,  nor  end 
in  selfishness.  It  passes  beyond  the  earth  to  become  grati- 
tude in  Heaven.  We  lose  the  chances  of  its  becoming  evil, 
when  we  bind  it  up  with  God.  We  will  have  none  of  it  for 
which  we  cannot  praise  God  with  a  quiet  mind.  And,  day 
by  day,  as  we  praise  Him  for  pure  joy,  we  find  more  for 
which  to  praise  Him  ;  we  fill  the  world  with  God,  and  walk 
with  Him.  His  is  the  freshness  of  the  morning,  and  the 
rest  of  eventide.  His  the  beauty  of  the  woodlands  and 
the  waters,  of  the  mountains  and  the  clouds  that  love 
them,  of  the  deep  sea,  and  the  multitudes  of  the  flowers, 
and  His  the  language  of  the  kindly  earth  and  the  ancient 
Heavens.  The  rapture  of  all  the  love  that  we  have 
known  is  His,  and  to  Him  belong  all  the  great  hopes  that 
have  transfigured  us,  and  all  the  rushing  life  within  which 
rose  again,  like  Jesus  from  his  grave,  when  our  stricken  heart 
seemed  dead.  All  our  joy  is  God's — we  and  the  Father  are 
one.  Praise  becomes  the  air  we  breathe,  and  from  our 
praise  flows  so  great  a  gladness  that  others  learn  to  praise. 

And  then,  when  sorrow  comes  and  pain,  we  are  not 
unprepared.  We  know  they  are  in  His  order  whom  we 
love,  in  whom  we  are,  with  whom  we  are  at  one.  We 
suffer,  but  it  is  with  the  certainty  that  the  suffering  will 
come  to  an  end,  and  that  the  end  will  be  the  blessing  of 
others,  and,  in  that,  our  own.  The  storm  of  trial  beats 
upon  us,  but  we  are  founded  on  a  rock;  and  there  is  some- 


r£]. 
The  Unity  of  God  and  Man.  * 

thing  almost  of  joy  in  the  stern  resistance  we  can  give  to  the 
tempest — such  resistance,  and  such  a  thrill,  as  a  great 
lighthouse,  set  far  out  at  sea  on  a  solitary  rock,  might  feel, 
were  it  alive,  when  all  the  ocean  wrath  dashed  against  it, 
always  in  vain.  Victory  is  the  only  solace  for  sorrow,  and  of 
victory  he  is  secure  who  with  Jesus  knows  that  he  is  at  one  with 
the  Father.  "  Who  shall  separate  us  from  the  love  of  Christ  ? 
Shall  tribulation,  or  distress,  or  persecution,  or  famine,  or 
nakedness,  or  peril,  or  sword  ?  Nay,  in  all  these  things  we 
are  more  than  conquerors  through  him  that  loved  us." 

"  More  than  conquerors."  Yet,  we  have  many  days  of 
battle  to  endure,  of  weakness,  and  of  pain  that  seems  to 
grasp  the  hand  of  death.  They  have  but  cold  hearts  who 
say  that  the  surety  of  conquest  should  carry  us  beyond  the 
pain  of  earth.  It  cannot  do  so  always,  nor  is  it  well  it 
should.  We  must  know  suffering  that  we  may  be  able  to 
help  those  who  suffer ;  we  must  weep  our  day,  even  though 
we  are  going  to  find  peace,  that  we  may  know  how  nobly 
others  before  us  have  endured  and  wrought. 

Now  are  we  left  without  the  help  of  our  belief  in  God 
at  one  with  us,  in  the  midst  of  the  days  when  trouble  makes 
praise  unnatural.  For,  if  we  are  at  one  with  Him,  then  we 
tell  Him  of  all  our  trials,  as  a  child  runs  to  tell  his  mother 
of  his  pain.  We  do  not  ask  Him  to  take  them  away  from 
us,  but  we  do  ask  Him  to  share  them  with  us.  It  is  not  praise, 
but  it  is  prayer — silent,  contending,  deep  communion,  ab- 
solute realization  of  His  Presence,  certainty  of  His  love, 
fearlessness,  and  knowledge ;  till,  at  last,  we  come  out  of  the 
obscure  wood  of  trouble  saying  to  ourselves,  with  greater 
trust  than  before,  "  I  and  My  Father  are  one." 


22  The  Unity  of  God  and  Man. 

In  these  experiences,  lastly,  are  the  roots  ot  Growth. 
Through  pleasure  and  pain  thus  known,  and  passed 
through  with  God,  the  personal  life  of  the  soul  develops  in 
such  a  manner,  that  while  it  loses  its  selfishness  in  God, 
it  gains  the  itnmortal  individuality  which  is  only  found  in 
love.  The  deepest  personality  of  man  is  in  his  unity  with 
God.  Never  did  Jesus  feel  more  profoundly  the  undying- 
continuity  of  his  consciousness  than  when  he  said — "  I  and 
my  Father  are  one." 

At  last,  death  comes — death,  that  men  think  they  fear, 
but  who  is  our  kindest  friend.  And  when  we  stand  before 
the  gate,  the  key  of  which  he  keeps,  and  see  through  its 
lattice  his  solemn  and  beautiful  face,  alit  with  the  light  of 
life — for,  in  truth,  he  whom  we  call  death  is  our  nearest 
image  on  earth  of  life — what  shall  we  say  to  him,  with 
what  words  unlock  the  gate  of  Paradise? — "Open,  friend  : 
I  and  my  Father  are  one." 


[June  21,   1885.] 

THE    UNITY  OF  GOD  AND  MAN. 
"  I  and  my  Father  are  one." — JOHN  x.  30. 

THIS  wonderful  word  of  Jesus,  spoken  by  him  in  lofty 
prophetic  feeling  of  the  whole  race  of  man  whom  he  felt 
moving  in  himself,  lays  deep  the  foundation  of  all 
religion.  In  each  one  of  us  growing  into  the  power  of 
truly  saying  it,  personal  religion  consists.  To  know 
our  kinship  to  God,  to  claim  it,  to  live  by  it,  to  love 
Him  as-  at  one  with  ourselves  as  a  father  with  a  child,  to 
feel  that  He  is  educating  us  day  by  day  into  unity 
with  Himself,  to  believe  that  the  union  shall  at  last  be 
perfect,  and  to  realize  it  more  and  more  in  feeling  and  in 
act — that  is  individual  religion.  In  that  relation  we  each 
stand  utterly  alone  with  God.  At  times  we  are  conscious  of 
nothing  else  in  the  whole  universe  but  ourselves  and  Him  ; 
and  this  consciousness,  and  the  fact  which  answers  to  it — that 
God  has  a  distinct  relation  to  each  of  us — different  for  ever 
from  that  which  He  has  to  anyone  else — is  the  only  un- 
changeable and  certain  ground  of  that  which  we  call 
individuality.  And  profoundly  important  it  is  to  maintain 
that  ground  now,  at  a  time  when  we  are  called  on  to  sacrifice 
all  individuality  for  the  sake  of  the  whole.  We  are  to 
sacrifice  all  desires  to  have,  and  take,  and  keep,  for  ourselves. 
These  are  to  be  surrendered  for  the  sake  of  the  whole.  But 


24  The  Unity  of  God  and  Man. 

we  are  not  to  sacrifice  individuality.  In  fact,  we  cannot 
sacrifice  it  if  we  would.  If  we  give  it  up,  we  give  up  the 
power  of  sacrifice,  for  we  give  up  will,  character,  and 
consciousness :  the  very  things  which  constitute  our  separate 
individuality.  What  have  we  then  left  to  sacrifice  ?  Indeed, 
the  logical  conclusion  to  which  certain  philosophers,  who 
hold  this  theory,  are  driven,  is  personal  and  universal 
annihilation;  for  if  all  the  individualities  of  which  the  whole 
of  humanity  is  made  up  are  sacrificed,  why,  then,  the  whole 
is  itself  destroyed.  Such  philosophies,  however,  are 
transient ;  they  must  run  their  course  and  die,  having  frac- 
tured their  heads  against  human  nature  and  the  laws  by  which 
mankind  exists.  No,  the  religion  of  Jesus,  in  which  distinc- 
tive personality  is  secured  by  connecting  each  human  being 
separately  with  God,  is  right,  is  in  accordance  with  fact,  is 
not  only  good  philosophy,  but  also  common  sense.  Let 
each  one  of  you  say,  "  I  and  my  Father  are  one,"  and 
realize  towards  Him  your  personality.  You  can  lose  person- 
ality as  much  as  you  like  towards  man ;  but  keep  it  towards 
God.  In  Him  it  is  certain  not  to  end  in  selfishness. 

Again,  if  God  be  at  one  with  each  of  the  parts,  He  is 
more  completely  at  one  with  the  whole — or,  rather,  the 
whole  of  mankind  is  a  more  complete  representation  of  God 
than  any  one  of  the  parts.  If  each  of  us  may  say  with 
Jesus,  "  I  and  my  Father  are  one,"  still  more  may  the  whole 
of  mankind,  realizing  its  oneness,  say,  "I,  Universal 
Humanity,  and  the  Father  are  one ;  God  and  mankind  are 
one."  This  is  the  truth  which  has  been  kept  alive  in  the 
doctrine  of  the  union  of  God  and  man  in  Jesus.  The  form 
given  to  it  by  the  Churches  is  untrue,  and  most  clearly  seen 


The  Unity  of  God  and  Man.  25 

as  such  in  the  restriction  of  its  truth  to  Jesus  alone :  for  we 
may  always  take  it  for  granted  that  a  spiritual  statement 
issued  in  a  limited  form  is  untrue  so  far  as  it  is  limited. 
But  through  the  untrue  form  the  truth  stole  into  the  hearts 
of  men,  awakened  their  emotions,  and  produced  life  and  act 
accordant  to  it  throughout  the  ages.  Of  all  great  social 
movements,  of  all  great  religious  reformations,  of  all  the 
thoughts  that  have  stirred  the  souls  of  nations,  of  all  the 
universal  ideas  which  have  coursed  like  fire  through  the 
heart  of  man,  this  truth  was  the  living  soul — Humanity 
and  God  are  one.  And  the  day  will  come,  when,  after  in- 
finite work,  struggle  and  development,  victory  over  all  evil 
error  will  be  won,  and  all  mankind,  from  beginning  to  end, 
will  become  conscious  that  it  is  at  union  with  God,  and  take 
up  with  universal  voice,  the  saying  of  Jesus — "  I  and  the 
Father  are  one." 

I  showed  last  Sunday  what — on  the  ground  of  this  belief 
in  our  indestructible  kinship  to  God — our  personal  religion 
was  to  be,  and  in  what  it  consisted. 

To-day  I  will  speak  of  the  other  side  of  religion  as 
it  flows  from  this  same  idea  of  the  kinship  of  God  and 
man  ;  that  side  of  it  which  is  in  relation  to  our  fellow-men. 
It  is  an  enormous  subject.  The  sermons  of  a  lifetime  would 
scarcely  discuss  half  the  forms  it  takes  ;  and  I  have  spoken  of 
it  in  many  ways.  But,  however  numerous  its  forms,  they  all 
flow  from  this  one  idea  of  the  natural  union  of  God  with 
man,  of  the  natural  kinship  of  the  Father  to  His  children. 
For  in  that  idea  is  declared  the  truth  of  the  brotherhood 
of  man.  If  all  are  God's  children,  all  are  bound  together 
for  eternity,  and  have  the  eternal  duties  and  the  eternal  rights 


26  The  Unity  of  God  and  Man. 

01  fraternity  laid  upon  them.  All  religious  life  then,  con- 
ceived of  as  lived  in  and  among  men,  runs  back  to  God 
as  its  centre.  The  idea  of  the  Fatherhood  of  God  is  the  most 
ideal  and  the  most  practical  ground  of  all  human  association, 
from  the  relations  of  the  family  to  those  of  the  whole  of 
mankind.  All  other  grounds  are  liable  to  change,  are  con- 
tained in  the  ever  shifting  matter  of  human  thought  and 
feeling,  are  capable  of  being  discussed,  differed  from,  over- 
thrown. This  alone,  being  outside  humanity  and  yet  within 
it,  being  immutable,  infinite,  and  always  good,  remains  a 
foundation  that  cannot  be  shaken.  There  is  nothing  which 
any  old  philosophy  or  new  religion  has  striven  to  embody 
concerning  the  duties  of  man  to  man,  concerning  the  rights 
of  man,  concerning  the  evolution  and  the  progress  of  the 
race,  which  is  not  to  be  best  derived  and  worked  from  the 
idea  that  all  men  are  brothers  because  they  are  the  sons 
of  the  infinite  Goodness,  Truth,  and  Love ;  that  all  men 
and  the  Father  are  one. 

But  among  the  many  ways  of  treating  the  subject  of  the 
religious  duties  of  man  to  man,  on  the  ground  of  this 
belief  on  which  I  am  dwelling,  there  is  one  which  is  but  rarely 
touched,  and  which,  if  I  can  manage  to  express  it,  will 
develop,  in  perhaps  a  new  fashion,  the  belief  itself,  and  the 
duties  that  flow  from  it. 

If  Nature  could  consciously  feel  and  speak,  it  would  say, 
"I  and  my  Creator  are  one;"  and  at  least,  men  have  so 
felt  and  written  about  Nature  that  part  of  the  thinking 
of  man  is  this — "That  the  universe  is  one  of  the 
forms  of  God."  If,  then,  humanity  and  Nature  are  both 
forms  of  God,  there  is  a  relationship  of  kinship,  and 


The  Unity  of  God  and  Man.  27 

of  essential  thought  between  them.  In  what  Nature  does, 
or  in  what  is  done  in  her,  we  should  find  an  image  of  our 
true  lives  ;  in  the  doings  of  natural  things,  the  image  of  what 
should  be  our  doings  one  to  another.  This,  too,  was  the 
conception  of  Jesus.  He  used  continually  the  processes 
of  Nature,  the  business  of  the  sun  and  wind  and  flowers 
and  corn,  to  illustrate  the  Kingdom  of  God  among  men. 
He  saw,  that  is,  the  inner  harmony  of  thought  between 
humanity  and  Nature,  because  he  saw  that  their  one  and 
single  source  was  God  his  Father. 

Our  question,  then,  which  we  wish  to  answer  is  :  What 
does  the  life  of  Nature  tell  us  of  our  religious  duties 
towards  men?  I  shall  state  this  in  poetical  form, 
but  it  will  be  seen  that  it  may  also  be  stated  in  scientific 
form. 

We  see  first  individuality  ;  each  separate  thing  living  its 
own  distinct  life,  having  its  own  distinct  qualities,  and  yet,  in 
all,  and  forming  all,  only  one  Energy ;  different  atomic 
arrangements  producing  different  developments,  but  the 
mighty  power  which  drives  the  vibrations  for  ever  constant  and 
the  same.  Or,  to  say  the  same  thing  in  the  poet's  way — Out 
of  herself  Nature  furnishes  to  every  creature  a  silent  heart ; 
every  lonely  dell  and  every  mountain  peak,  every  flower, 
every  stream  and  cloud  has  its  own  special  soul  and 
character.  The  vast  divisions  of  the  world — the  sea,  the 
heavens,  the  air,  the  all-receiving  earth,  like  the  great 
divisions  of  humanity,  have  each  their  complex  life  and 
personality.  And  Nature  herself,  in  whom  all  the  separate 
lives  are  merged  into  one  life — as  persons,  societies,  nations, 
and  divisions  are  enfolded  in  the  one  life  of  humanity — 


28  The  Unity  of  God  and  Man. 

has  her  own  mighty  Being  which  loves,  thinks  and  acts  in 
incessant  creation. 

But  this  individuality  of  the  whole  and  the  parts  is  con- 
sistent with,  and  indeed  endures  through  ceaseless  inter- 
communion, every  part  giving  and  receiving  all  it  has,  like 
friends  in  loving  intercourse ;  each  sacrificing — to  use  an 
analogical  term — its  life  for  the  life  of  the  rest.  Nothing 
in  Nature  lives  to  itself,  or  dies  to  itself.  Each  bears  the 
other's  burdens,  and  so  fulfils  the  law  of  God.  They  do  it, 
I  suppose  I  must  say,  unconsciously,  but  they  do  it,  and 
they  reveal  to  us  in  their  doing  of  it  what  God  desires  our 
life  with  one  another  to  become.  It  is  one  of  His  universal 
thoughts  of  life  which  we  see  there ;  and  the  whole  statement 
I  have  made,  as  a  poet  would  make  it,  is  just  as  true,  when 
stated  in  another  form,  in  the  world  of  scientific  fact.  It  is 
an  absolute  truth. 

Individual  as  we  are  to  be  then  towards  God,  we  are  to 
be  the  exact  converse  towards  our  fellow  men.  Among 
men,  our  religion  is  to  be  (and  in  this  we  follow  Nature  as 
well  as  Jesus),  the  surrender  of  all  we  have  and  are  for  the 
sake  of  others,  for  the  sake  of  the  welfare  of  the  whole. 
We  are  to  possess  a  blessed  spirit  in  our  being  which  shall 
yield,  almost  without  consciousness  of  giving,  with  joy  and 
without  weariness,  as  a  flower  yields  its  scent  and  a  stream 
its  music,  whatever  beauty  and  use  we  have  for  the  increase 
of  the  happiness  of  man,  till  at  last  we  feel,  through  our 
giving,  that  we  are  in  communion  with  the  whole  of 
humanity.  Then  we  say,  "  I  and  humanity  are  one  ; "  and 
since  humanity  is  the  child  of  God,  say  again,  and  in  a 
different  way  than  before,  "  I  and  the  Father  are  one."  This 


The  Unity  of  God  and  Man.  29 

is  a  part  of  our  religion  towards  man ;  and  he  who  is  not 
living  by  this  idea,  is,  so  far,  isolated  not  only  from  God  and 
man,  but  also  from  Nature ;  at  variance  not  only  with 
theology,  but  also  with  science  ;  not  living  in  harmony  with 
truth. 

Again,  as  with  us,  so  with  Nature,  there  is  a  mighty 
sorrow.  The  whole  creation  groaneth  and  travaileth. 
Many  have  looked  on  the  world,  and  seen  in  it  nothing 
but  pain  and  destruction.  It  seems  sometimes  to  us  as  if 
the  universe  were  sentient,  and  we  heard  the  cry  of  its  vast 
suffering  rising  in  the  dead  of  night,  and  vainly  asking  us 
for  help.  And  did  Nature  feel,  we  should  know  that  she 
would  be  like  humanity,  and  would  realize  the  same  im- 
mense trouble  that  we  have,  and  the  same  immense  pro- 
blem we  try  to  solve. 

But  this  problem  both  for  her  and  for  us  is  contained  in 
the  categorical  imperative  which  demands  the  sacrifice  of 
individual  desires  for  the  welfare  of  the  whole.  As  long  as 
we  are  unwilling  to  make  this  sacrifice,  so  long  we  shall 
have  pain.  As  long  as  humanity  is  unwilling  to  obey  the 
law  by  which  the  life  of  the  spiritual  and  the  physical 
universe  exists,  so  long  will  pain  be  the  lot  of  humanity. 
Pain  is  the  unwilling  sacrifice  of  our  individual  desires  to 
get  and  to  keep  things  for  ourselves  alone.  Pleasure  is  the 
willing  surrender  for  the  good  of  the  whole  of  all  things 
which  we  should  otherwise  desire  to  get  and  keep.  And 
the  only  answer  to  the  problem  of  the  suffering  earth  and 
man  is  in  the  belief,  that  when  all  have  attained  the  full 
power  of  living  for  the  welfare  of  the  whole,  and  of  using 
that  power  with  ease,  then  pain  must  cease,  for  that  which 


3O  The  Unity  of  God  and  Man. 

produced  the  pain  will  then  produce  pleasure.  And  if  so, 
the  end  will  be  so  glorious,  and  the  life  so  intense,  that  we 
shall  confess  that  to  gain  it  was  worth  all  the  pain. 

But  now,  face  to  face  with  the  pain,  what  does  Nature 
teach  us  ?  It  teaches  us  to  take  it  joyfully.  It  is  im- 
possible not  to  be  impressed  through  Nature  with  the 
sense  of  the  frank  enjoyment  of  life  in  organic  things ; 
though  we  know  also  that  all  these  things  suffer  the  same 
natural  pains  that  we  endure ;  the  animals  consciously, 
and,  it  may  be,  even  the  plants  that  do  not  tell  us  of  their 
woes.  Yet  they  take  misfortune  well.  It  was  not  out 
of  Wordsworth's  soul  alone  that  the  idea  came  that 
every  flower  enjoyed  the  air  it  breathed.  Even 
when  we  are  gloomiest  we  think  how  gaily  the  leaves 
dance  in  the  sunlight,  how  happily  the  stream  is  run- 
ning, how  wild  with  pleasure  is  the  mountain  grass 
tossing  in  the  wind.  The  birds,  the  insect  world,  the 
fishes  that  flash  in  the  river,  the  lambs  in  the  dappled 
orchard — with  what  gladness  without  care,  themselves  their 
own  enjoyment,  they  live  and  move,  and  seem  to  praise 
the  Lord. 

This  ought  to  be  a  part  of  our  religion  towards  our  fellow- 
men  ;  yes,  in  spite  of  pain,  even  because  of  pain.  The  very 
first  demand  on  our  self-sacrifice,  when  we  are  in  heavy 
trouble,  is  not  to  let  it  overcome  us  so  far  as  to  take  away 
the  possibility  of  our  rejoicing  when  its  agony  is  over ;  and 
this  demand  is  made  on  us  for  the  sake  of  our  fellow-men. 
There  is  nothing  more  selfish,  more  disagreeable,  or  which 
causes  more  trouble  and  want  of  love  in  the  end,  than  the 
temper  of  those  persons  who,  because  they  think  their 


The   Unity  of  God  and  Man  31 

grief  a  duty,  or  their  trial  greater  than  any  one  else  can 
know,  impose  their  sorrow  and  pain  upon  mankind,  refuse 
all  the  sunlight  of  life,  and  wear  the  air  of  incessant 
martyrdom,  without  the  quiet  or  the  joy  of  the  martyrs. 
This  is  incarnate  selfishness ;  and  Nature,  who  suffers 
enough,  protests  against  it  in  her  silent  way  of  practice. 
Think  how  after  winter  she  bursts  into  life  again  ;  think 
how  after  tempest  the  flowers  lift  their  heads ;  think  how 
after  the  earthquake  and  the  eruption  she  clothes  the  slopes 
of  lava  and  the  torn  earth  with  her  green  and  embroidered 
garment.  Hear  how  the  birds,  while  they  remember  their 
desolated  nests,  give  themselves  up  to  the  sweet  present ! 
In  all  this  it  is  the  voice  of  God  you  hear,  the  thought  of 
God  you  see — your  Father  who  is  at  one  with  Nature  and 
with  you. 

What  Nature  does,  midst  of  all  her  pain,  let  us  go  and 
do  likewise  midst  of  a  suffering  world.  As  the  flowers 
do  not  know  the  pleasure  that  they  give  to  the  weary  and 
the  sick  and  the  poor;  as  the  birds  never  think  how  many  of 
that  human  race  so  different  from  theirs  have,  by  their  song, 
been  led  away  from  pain  or  cheered  in  sadness ;  so  the  heart 
that  will  not  yield  to  trouble,  and  in  its  faith  and  love  keeps  and 
gives  brightness,  as  it  ought ;  which  sings  on  its  way,  though 
it  does  not  forget  its  sorrow — as  sorrowful,  yet  always  re- 
joicing— does  more  for  men  than  we  can  tell,  and  far  more 
than  many  who  consciously  sacrifice  themselves.  These 
valiant  hearts  do  not  know  the  pleasure  and  the  strength 
they  give,  but  it  is  great ;  they  may  even,  like  the  birds  to 
us,  give  comfort  to  a  higher  race  in  greater  trouble  than  we, 
for  all  the  universe  of  life  is  bound  together.  If  you  will 


32  The  Unity  of  God  and  Man. 

keep  joy  in  the  midst  of  trouble,  you  may  truly  say,  "  I 
and  the  Father  are  one." 

Lastly ;  beneath  all  the  outward  pleasure  and  pain  of 
Nature  there  is  peace.  Deep  calm  is  at  her  heart,  as  in  the 
depths  of  ocean ;  as  in  the  silence  of  the  starry  space. 
Even  greater  than  the  impressions  of  sacrifice  and  joy  which 
she  gives  to  us,  is  the  impression  of  repose,  as  if  that  were 
the  end  both  of  joy  and  sorrow.  Yet  it  is  not  a  dead  peace, 
but  one  of  life  at  harmony  with  itself,  of  laws  fulfilled  and 
loved,  of  soft  swiftness  of  Being,  at  rest  through  its  own 
swiftness.  The  calm  of  the  summer  landscape,  the  quiet  of 
the  sea,  the  tranquillity  of  the  evening,  the  silence  of  the 
night,  do  not  bring  to  us  the  thought  of  death,  but  of 
obedient  and  peaceful  life.  And  this,  which  might  be 
called  mere  imagination,  is  the  sentence  also  of  great 
philosophy  and  of  science.  In  the  higher  region  of  thought 
where  all  disturbance  is  seen  in  its  relation  to  the  whole, 
where  order  is  seated  on  its  throne  supreme,  there  is  eternal 
peace.  In  the  centre  of  the  universe,  there  is  not  death  but 
life ;  not  sleep  but  energy.  It  is  this  tranquil  being  in  the 
whole  and  in  each  thing  which  "sends  its  own  deep  quiet 
to  restore  our  hearts."  It  is  this  unity  of  energy  and  rest 
which,  in  its  last  expression,  is  God  with  whom  we  and 
Nature  are  one. 

So,  that  is  the  end.  Peace  in  swiftness  of  life  ;  rest  in 
fulness  of  being  ;  harmony  in  completeness. 

Carry  that  faith  with  you  through  all  your  doings  with 
your  fellow-men.  You  will  then  carry  with  you  infinite 
blessing.  What  Nature  tells  you,  make  a  part  of  your 
religious  life  with  men.  Lead  them  to  see  and  know  the 


The   Unity  of  God  and  Man.  33 

end,  the  end  that  Jesus  knew  when  he  said,  "  Come,  all  ye 
that  are  weary  and  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 
Infinite  peace  in  infinite  life  is  God.  In  that  also — and 
it  is  dear  to  our  outwearied  lives — we  and  the  Father 
are  one. 


34 


[July  2,   1882.] 
THE    WANDERING  SHEEP. 

"  What  man  of  you  having  an  hundred  sheep,  if  he  lose  one  fo  them, 
doth  not  leave  the  ninety  and  nine  in  the  wilderness  and  go  after  that 
which  is  lost  until  he  find  it  ? 

"And  when  he  hath  found  it,  he  layeth  it  on  his  shoulders 
rejoicing."— ST.  LUKE  xv.  4,  5. 

THERE  is  all  the  sweetness  of  common  religion  in  this 
parable.  Everyone  can  feel  it,  understand  it,  love  it.  It 
belongs  to  no  creed  but  the  creed  of  human  love ;  it 
enshrines  no  doctrine  but  the  doctrine  which  we  learn  by 
many  a  gracious  touch  of  God,  the  doctrine  of  heavenly 
pity.  It  does  not  lead  us  into  the  thorny  wood  of  polemics 
to  find  there  a  faith  by  which  we  may  live  and  die ;  it  places 
us  in  the  midst  of  simple  human  life,  and  tells  us  that  therein 
we  may  know  religion.  Men  ask,  Where  shall  I  find 
teaching  that  I  care  for ;  where  a  daily  word  spoken 
to  my  heart;  where  the  short  lessons  which,  teaching  more 
than  sermons,  flit  like  swallows  over  the  plains  of  the  soul, 
and  drop  a  seed  to  fructify  hereafter  into  a  harvest  of  perfect 
good  ?  And  the  answer  is,  Open  your  eyes  and  look 
round  about  you.  See  the  son  returning  penitent  to  his 
father's  door,  hesitating  to  enter.  But  listen  for  a  moment, 
what  do  you  hear  ?  A  cry  of  joy — "This,  my  son,  was  dead, 
and  is  alive  again,  was  lost  and  is  found."  It  is  a  revelation 


The   Wandering  Sheep.  35 

of  God's  fatherhood.  Take  up  a  common  flower  as  you  go 
over  the  meadows,  the  daisy,  star  of  the  grass.  Look  at  the 
way  in  which  the  pink  is  dropped  upon  its  leaves,  touch  by 
touch,  till  you  fail  to  see  the  gradations.  Look  how  its 
yellow  wands  are  set  in  the  midst,  each  with  its  golden 
crown.  What  is  that  ?  It  is  that  infinite  care  of  God 
which  Christ  knew  when  he  said,  "  If  God  so  clothe  the  grass 
of  the  field,  which  to-day  is,  and  to-morrow  is  cast  into  the 
oven,  how  much  more  shall  He  clothe  you,  O  ye  of  little 
faith." 

Watch  the  growth  of  the  corn,  from  seed  to  harvest 
What  do  you  see  there  ?  You  see  the  growth  of  the  soul. 
Jesus  knew  its  story  well,  and  taught  his  happiest  spiritual 
lessons  from  all  that  he  saw  in  the  green  fields  round  Gen- 
nesaret.  Pass  by  an  orchard  in  spring:  you  see  a  tree  laden 
with  foliage.  Pass  by  the  same  orchard  in  autumn :  you  see 
the  tree  producing  no  fruit,  but  only  leaves.  What  does  the 
owner  do  ?  He  waits  a  little.  Year  by  year  he  digs  about 
the  tree,  and  takes  care  that  it  has  plenty  of  refreshing 
nutriment ;  but  if  nothing  comes  of  it  he  says,  "  Cut  it 
down ;  why  cumbereth  it  the  ground  ?  "  What  have  you 
seen  ?  You  have  seen  the  way  in  which  God  deals  with  a 
soul  whose  life  produces  leaves  but  no  fruit. 

Pass  by  on  a  Yorkshire  moor  or  Highland  mountain  side 
when  eve  is  falling  dark  and  menacing,  and  the  snow  comes 
up  hidden  in  the  bosom  of  the  cloud ;  stay  till  you  see  the 
ninety-nine  sheep  penned  in  the  rough  fold  beneath  the 
shelter  of  the  rock,  and  then,  amid  the  blinding  drift,  go 
with  the  shepherd  all  night  long  from  glen  to  glen,  till  at  last 
he  find  the  dying  lamb,  and,  laying  it  on  his  shoulders, 

c  2 


3^  The    Wandering  Sheep. 

brings  it  back  rejoicing.  What  have  you  seen?  Only  a 
shepherd  and  his  sheep,  and  danger  faced,  and  joy  born  out 
of  the  depths  of  love  and  pity  for  one  of  lower  by  one  of 
higher  race  ?  More,  more  than  that.  You  have  seen 
Christianity,  seen  the  relation  of  the  Great  Shepherd  to  the 
race  of  men.  The  whole  world  is  a  parable  of  the  dealings 
of  God  with  man.  The  interpretation  is  plain  to  all  who  will 
open  their  eyes  to  see.  All  our  religion,  all  that  is  necessary 
for  us  to  believe  may  be  found  in  our  daily  life  with  men, 
and  can  be  learnt  from  the  relation  of  men  to  animals. 

Christ  teaches  us  in  this  parable  to  be  pitiful  to  the  lost. 
There  are  two  classes  of  open  sinners — those  who  go  away 
wilfully,  and  those  who  are  lost  through  error.  Lost !  Mark 
the  word  ;  for  it  makes  the  distinction  between  this  parable 
and  that  of  the  Prodigal  Son.  The  fault  of  severance  from  a 
father  had  been  wilfully  made  by  the  younger  son.  Then,  he 
ruined  himself  of  his  own  direct  will;  he  was  not  betrayed,  or 
deceived  into  evil,  or  overtaken  in  a  fault.  He  chose  the 
wild  life  of  his  own  accord.  He  was  not  only  ruined;  he  was, 
we  are  told,  dead.  But  the  wandering  sheep  was  led  away, 
it  knew  not  how,  from  the  guarded  flock.  A  patch  of 
greener  grass  had  attracted  it ;  and  then  another,  and 
another  ;  a  belt  of  shadow  next  beside  a  brook,  beneath  a 
tree,  had  lured  its  thirst  and  then  its  slumber.  It  awoke  in 
mist  and  solitude,  and  in  dumb  pain  and  ghastly  fear  went 
blindly  through  the  wilderness  and  was  lost.  It  is  thus 
that  many  a  vain,  weak,  and  passionate  creature  has 
perished.  The  light  that  leads  astray  seems  often 
at  first  to  be  light  from  heaven.  The  frailty  which  leads 
them  to  sin  takes  often  the  semblance  of  strength.  The 


( 
The    Wandering  Sheep.  37 

path  on  which  they  walk  appears  so  beautiful  that  it  cannot, 
they  think,  be  wrong.  Alas  !  no  mistake  is  so  common  as 
to  think  that  the  beautiful  is  necessarily  the  true. 

Many  of  these  wandering  creatures,  both  men  and  women, 
fell  in  the  way  of  Christ.  He  was  attracted  by  them,  and  had 
himself  an  irresistible  attraction  for  the  outcasts  of  society. 
The  Pharisee,  at  their  sight,  drew  round  him  the  cloak  of 
sanctimonious  indignation  ;  a  touch  from  a  sinner  was  a 
stain.  The  Sadducee  did  not  care  about  saving  them  from 
ruin.  He  would  say,  "  A  certain  amount  of  immorality  is 
inevitable  ;  sin  to  some  temperaments  is  almost  a  necessity  : 
I  can  do  nothing,  and  I  do  not  particularly  care  ;  and  after 
all,  as  there  is  no  life  after  death,  they  may  as  well  follow 
their  nature.  If  they  hurt  society  in  following  their  nature, 
society  can  put  an  end  to  them." 

Between  these  two  sides  —  which  I  have  modernized  a 
little,  and  you  may  recognize  their  existence  now  —  the 
publican  and  the  sinner  in  Judaea  were  abandoned  to 
themselves.  No  voice  of  love  reached  them  ;  no  chance 
was  given  them.  Reprobated  by  one  side,  ignored  by  the 
other,  they  felt  themselves  infamous,  and  they  became  still 
more  that  which  society  declared  them  to  be.  Hardness  of 
heart  corrupted  the  strong  among  them  ;  despair  of  heart 
corrupted  the  weak. 

But  when  pure  humanity  lived  on  earth,  and  they  saw 
the  love  of  God  shining  in  the  Saviour's  eyes,  and  shining 
upon  them,  and  heard  in  every  word  he  spoke  the  infinite 
yearning  of  God  to  seek  and  save  the  lost,  they  could  not 
resist  the  heavenly  magnetism.  "  Then  drew  near  all  the 
publicans  and  sinners  for  to  hear  him."  The  hard  heart 


3  8  The   Wandering  Sheep. 

melted  into  tears ;  the  despairing  saw  the  star  of  hope  arise. 
In  the  very  presence  of  their  foes  they  clustered  round 
Jesus.  But  they  were  not  allowed  their  last  chance.  Even 
now  the  lying  righteousness  of  men  forbad  their  penitence, 
and  pushed  them  back  into  their  guilt.  The  Scribes  and 
Pharisees  did  their  wicked  best  to  make  the  only  man  who 
had  ever  seemed  to  care  for  these  outcasts  turn  away  from 
them  in  shame.  They  "murmured,  saying,  This  man 
receiveth  sinners,  and  eateth  with  them." 

What  would  the  prophet  do?  What  would  you  have 
done  ?  Would  ridicule  or  fear  overcome  Jesus  ?  Would  he 
bend  before  the  power  of  the  priesthood,  and  turn  away  from 
the  sinful  woman  and  the  degraded  man  ?  Having  opened  to 
them  a  glimpse  of  heaven,  would  he  push  them  back  into  a 
hell  darker  for  the  glimpse  of  light  ?  These  questions  ran 
through  all  hearts  in  the  crowd  ;  and  I  can  imagine  the 
suspended  hush  when  Christ  began  to  speak.  But  can  we 
fancy  the  shame  and  anger,  the  shame  and,  perhaps,  the 
repentance,  which  stole  into  the  obstinate  Pharisaic 
hearts :  the  beautiful  relief,  the  delight,  the  glory  of 
tearful  love  which  filled  the  sinners'  soul  when,  one 
after  another,  in  exquisitely  simple  words  and  human 
images,  the  three  parables  which  follow  fell  like  musical 
winds,  born  in  the  highest  heavens  of  tenderness, 
upon  their  ears?  Nothing  like  those  parables  had  ever 
been  heard  before ;  nothing  like  them  will  be  heard  again 
on  earth.  They  have  come  down  to  us  from  that  ancient 
time,  and  they  have  never  ceased  to  touch,  and  soften,  and 
redeem  the  heart  of  the  lost.  They  have  drawn  more 
healing  tears  from  men ;  comforted  more  despair  ;  fallen 


The   Wandering  SJieeb.  39 

like  April  rain  upon  more  exhausted  hearts ;  blessed  more 
death  beds  with  the  supreme  beauty  of  hope ;  told  us  more 
of  heavenly  love  than  all  the  poetry,  art,  and  religious 
teaching  of  thousands  of  years. 

And  how  was  this  wonder  wrought  ?  By  an  appeal  to 
doctrine  ;  by  an  appeal  to  abstract  principles  ;  by  an  appeal 
to  social  economy  ?  Nothing  of  the  kind.  By  an  appeal  to 
ordinary  human  nature,  and  to  its  affections. 

He  turned  round  upon  the  Pharisees,  and  went  direct  to 
the  human  centre  of  pity  in  their  hearts,  taking  the  case  into 
a  region  unconfused  by  any  conventional  and  hardened 
thought.  "  What  man  of  you,  having  a  hundred  sheep,  if 
he  lose  one  of  them,  doth  not  leave  the  ninety  and  nine  in 
the  wilderness  and  go  after  that  which  was  lost,  until  he  find 
it  ?  "  That  is,  he  asked  the  objector,  "  How  would  one  of 
you  act  in  such  a  case  ?  You  would  go  after  the  wanderer 
until  you  found  it."  It  is  just  so,  said  Christ,  that  God 
would  act.  Think  of  your  feelings  when  the  prodigal 
returns.  These  are  God's  feelings  when  a  sinner  turns  to 
Him. 

This  is  simple  teaching,  utterly  simple;  a  child  can 
comprehend  it,  a  wise  man  can  love  it  with  all  his  heart. 
There  is  no  need  to  represent  Christianity  as  a  difficult  thing 
to  understand.  In  the  minuter  details  of  life,  in  the  appli- 
cation of  the  principles  of  Jesus  to  diverse  characters,  diffi- 
culties arise.  But  one  simple  idea  lies  at  the  root  of  all  Christ's 
teaching — the  salvation  of  the  lost,  the  bringing  of  rest  to  the 
weary  and  sorrowful  and  sinful  of  the  world.  Broadly  and 
clearly,  Christ  declared  in  these  parables  the  identity 
of  God's  compassion  with  our  compassion ;  the  identity 


40  The   Wandering  Sheep. 

of  God's  eagerness  to  find  the  lost  with  our  eagerness 
to  find  them.  It  is  the  fashion  with  some  to  deny  this 
identity  and  to  quote  "  My  ways  are  not  your  ways,  nor  my 
thoughts  as  your  thoughts."  Very  true  !  But  those  words 
were  spoken  to  men  who  were  sinning  by  injustice  and 
unpitifulness  against  true  human  nature.  They  did  not 
deny  that  fact  which  made  the  manifestation  of  God's 
character  in  Christ  possible  and  valuable,  the  fact  contained 
in  the  phrase  of  the  human  heart  of  God.  It  is  that  fact  which 
the  Pharisee,  at  all  times  of  the  world's  history,  denies. 
Secluding  himself  in  his  religious  doctrine  and  formalism,  in 
bigotry  and  bitterness,  he  refuses  to  give  love  to  the  sinner,  to 
feel  pity  for  the  penitent.  It  is  his  religion  to  be  hard  on 
others.  He  denies  his  human  heart,  and  though  he  thinks  he 
affirms  God  in  so  doing,  he  in  fact  denies  God.  To  turn  and 
believe  that  God  feels  love  and  pity,  and  is  just,  not  cruel, 
is  the  only  chance  such  a  man  has  to  redeem  his  soul.  By 
appealing  to  the  human  nature  in  these  obstinate  Jews, 
Christ  recalled  them  from  the  region  of  dead  and  bigoted 
religion,  swept  them  for  a  moment  out  of  their  world  of 
thorny  maxims  of  morality,  of  separation  from  mankind, 
and  brought  them  back  to  Nature.  Nor  does  he  forget  now 
in  his  perfect  life  those  whom  he  touched  with  so  subtle 
and  so  gentle  a  finger  here  on  earth.  Wherever  there  is  the 
wanderer  and  the  sinner  there  is  One  who  seeks  them.  We, 
untempted  and  folded  in  the  watchful  precincts  of  home,  do 
not  know  the  agony  of  such  loss  as  this  ;  but  there  are  times 
even  for  us  when  the  heart  is  outcast  and  the  life  undone  ; 
when  broken  down  with  the  unutterable  pang  of  a  lost  love 
or  a  fruitless  indignation,  we  hide  our  sorrow  from  the  eyes 


The   Wandering  Sheep.  41 

of  men,  and  move  among  them  with  no  sign  of  outward 
trouble,  but  inwardly  are  wandering  for  ever  through  a  misty 
wilderness,  wild  and  thirsty  as  the  most  passionate  desert 
dream.  Worse  still,  when,  seized  in  the  grip  of  some  secret 
sin,  though  seeming  righteous  to  the  world,  we  know  that  we 
are  no  longer  of  the  ninety  and  nine  just  ones  who  need  no 
repentance,  but  are  adrift  upon  the  sea  of  self-contempt, 
alone  with  the  torture  of  remorse  and  hopelessness  and 
shame.  In  these  and  other  cases,  if  we  are  not  spiritu- 
ally dead,  there  is  but  one  longing  in  the  soul — the  longing 
or  some  divine  comforter  to  come  after  us  and  say,  "Your 
hidden  grief  is  mine,  my  child,  your  secret  sin  I  forgive 
and  forget.  Neither  do  I  condemn  thee ;  go  and  sin  no 
more." 

Far  worse,  however,  is  the  outcasts'  case.  Thousands 
of  outcasts  drift  through  this  great  city ;  women  who  have 
sinned,  men  who  have  never  heard  a  word  of  kindness 
from  their  birth.  They  are  the  hundredth  sheep.  It 
you  can,  be  to  them,  when  they  cross  your  path,  like  Christ 
and  God ;  do  not  stand  apart ;  help  to  save  a  few  from  the 
terror  of  despair  and  the  death  in  life.  Your  own  peace, 
your  gracious  home  purity  should  make  you  pitiful.  Have 
you  never  asked  yourself  how  much  you  may  have  indirectly 
done  to  swell  those  dreadful  ranks,  how  thoughtlessness 
again  and  again  repeated  in  matters  that  pertain  to  every-day 
existence  may  have  driven  many  into  this  outcast  life.  "  We 
know  not  what  we  do,"  some  cry  ;  but  they  ought  to  know. 
They  ought  to  think  that  more  evils  are  wrought  by  want  of 
thought  than  by  want  of  heart,  and  that  thoughtlessness, 
encouraged  or  unchecked,  or  long  protracted  after  warnings 


42  The   Wandering  Sheep. 

given,  becomes  want  of  heart.  The  impulse  of  pity  is 
checked  by  selfishness  ;  the  desire  of  helping  by  vanity  and 
love  of  show,  by  disinclination  to  break  in  upon  our  easy 
going  life.  The  practice  of  love  is  troublesome,  and  at  last 
divine  charity  dies.  Then  we  are  dead  to  God,  dead  far 
more  than  the  miserable  outcast  we  ignore.  For  death  to 
love  is  death  to  God.  "  For  those  who  shut  out  love,  in 
turn  shall  be  shut  out  from  love,  and  on  her  threshold  lie, 
howling  in  outer  darkness." 

Let  us  open,  then,  when  we  can,  a  door  for  the  broken 
and  contrite  heart.  We  can  go  after  the  lost  sheep 
until  we  find  it ;  we  can  be  untiring  in  our  effort,  un- 
sparing of  our  wealth.  For  even  though  we  may  often 
fail,  we  shall  resemble  that  ever-seeking  Father,  whose 
children  we  ought  to  be  in  the  sleeplessness  of  our  tender- 
ness, and  the  obstinacy  of  our  assistance. 

Lastly,  in  those  words,  "  until  he  find  it,"  we  see  that 
which  I  have  elsewhere  called  the  pertinacity  of  God. 
Human  love  is  baffled  by  fate  ;  worn  by  time  ;  exhausted  by 
indifference  ;  made  base  by  fear  ;  tainted  by  caprice  j 
reversed  by  a  swift  circumstance.  But  the  love  of  God  to 
every  son  of  man  moves  always  true,  steady,  and  persistent 
to  its  goal — the  salvation  and  perfection  of  the  soul.  He 
will  never  cease  to  pursue  the  wanderer  until  He  find  him. 
By  impulses  of  soul  and  sense  ;  by  unvoiced  words  heard  in 
the  silence  of  the  hills  or  in  the  dead  of  night ;  by  the  sudden 
kindling  of  aspirations ;  by  the  joy  of  youth  ;  by  success  in 
life ;  by  every  divine  touch  of  human  feeling  ;  by  sudden 
recollections  falling  upon  us,  He  seeks  us  in  youth  ;  and,  if 
we  will  not  hear,  then  He  seeks  us  in  a  sterner  way  by  the 


The   Wandering  Sheep.  43 

later  discipline  of  life.  He  makes  that  seeking  felt  in  trial,  in 
exhaustion  of  excitement,  so  that  joy  itself  is  pain  because  it 
has  satiety.  He  seeks  us  in  the  storm  which  lays  waste  the 
garden  of  life ;  in  the  voiceless  agony  of  the  soul ;  in  the 
bitterness  of  hope  delayed  ;  in  the  darkness  out  of  which  we 
cry,  "  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  Thou  forsaken  me  ?  " 
For  if  joy  will  not  do  anything  for  us,  perhaps  pain  may. 
There  is  something  awful,  when  we  are  its  subjects,  in  this 
terrible  pertinacity  of  God  ;  awful  in  its  trial  hours ;  awful  at 
every  hour,  when  we  stop  in  the  midst  of  joy,  to  think,  "  I 
am  haunted  by  the  Eternal  God.  It  is  no  use  my  contend- 
ing against  Him — He  will  make  me  His  at  last." 

It  is  awful,  but  not  terrifying,  when  we  yield  ourselves  to 
it.  It  produces  no  slavish,  coward,  superstitious  fear ;  nay, 
it  exalts  the  soul  of  him  who  believes  it,  makes  him  proud  of 
his  destiny,  and  sends  him  forth  armed,  "  to  strive,  to  seek, 
to  find,  and  not  to  yield."  Faith  in  the  perseverance  of  God 
is  the  training  which  makes  heroic  hearts.  It  makes  us 
not  only  heroic,  but  also  joyful,  when  we  believe  in  this 
divine  perseverance  not  for  ourselves  alone,  but  for  men. 
Every  wandering  sheep  the  Shepherd  will  seek  until  he 
find  it.  The  flock  shall  be  perfect  in  the  end.  All  shall 
be  brought  home  on  his  shoulders,  rejoicing;  the  per- 
severance of  the  Charity  of  God  shall  look  at  last  upon 
the  whole  of  mankind  folded  in  the  embrace  of  heaven. 

This  is  the  work  of  God.  Do  what  you  can  in  it  to  make 
it  complete,  if  I  may  use  the  word.  Go  after  and  seek  for 
those  that  are  lost,  and  in  the  end  you  shall  have  joy  and 
reward.  What  reward  ?  Material  good,  a  comfortable  place 
in  heaven !  Oh,  not  that,  but  a  sure  and  exquisite  reward,  if 


44  The   Wandering  Sheep. 

you  have  the  heart  to  feel  it.  The  fruit  of  love  is  love. 
You  will  have  the  manifold  growth  of  tenderness  within 
your  soul,  the  divine  pleasure  of  saving  the  lost,  the  same 
delight  that  filled  the  heart  of  Christ  when  the  outcast  and 
the  sinner  gathered  round  him.  You  will  have  something 
more :  you  will  realize  the  sympathy  of  heaven  with  your 
work  on  earth.  Listen  to  the  exquisite  and  beautiful  touch 
in  which  this  thought  is  held.  "Likewise  I  say  to  you, 
there  is  joy  in  the  presence  of  the  angels  of  God  over  one 
sinner  that  repenteth."  I  pray  that  the  music  of  that  thought 
may  thrill  in  your  hearts  and  kindle  your  love,  while  you  walk 
hand  in  hand  through  life  with  Jesus. 


45 


[Nov.  5,  1882.] 
ETERNAL   PUNISHMENT. 

"  Be  not  deceived  ;  God  is  not  mocked ;  for  whatsoever  a  man 
soweth,  that  shall  he  also  reap. 

"  For  he  that  soweth  to  the  flesh  shall  of  the  flesh  reap  corruption  ; 
but  he  that  soweth  to  the  Spirit  shall  of  the  Spirit  reap  life  everlasting." 
— GALATIANS  vi.  7,  8. 

IT  is  now  many  years  ago  since  a  partial  victory  was  won  in 
the  English  Church  over  the  doctrine  of  eternal  punishment. 
It  was  plainly  declared  that  to  hope  for  universal  redemp- 
tion was  not  inconsistent  with  subscription  to  its  formularies. 
I  remember  well  with  what  joy  this  tiny  boon  was  accepted 
by  many  of  us.  Since  that  time,  the  revolt  against  the  doctrine 
has  been  going  on  in  a  great  number  of  the  orthodox  religious 
bodies.  Even  among  the  Wesleyan  Methodists — perhaps  the 
most  strong  of  all  the  dissenting  sects  in  their  assertion  of 
eternal  punishment — a  disturbance  has  arisen  which  has 
greatly  afflicted  the  leaders  of  that  body.  In  England,  in 
Scotland,  in  the  Church  of  Ireland,  this  subject  has  been  so 
prominently  brought  forward,  that  many  ministers  have 
ceased  to  declare  directly  the  doctrine  of  eternal  punishment. 
And  now  an  ever-increasing  number  of  the  clergy,  and  a 
still  greater  number  of  the  laity,  have  wholly  and  openly 
put  out  of  their  creed  this  abominable  opinion. 

To  those  who  worship  in  this  chapel  it  is  scarcely  necessary 


46  Eternal  Punishment. 

for  me  to  speak  upon  the  subject;  but  it  is  important 
that  I  should  try  and  put  into  as  clear  form  as  I  can 
the  arguments  against  this  doctrine,  in  order  that  they  who 
do  not  believe  it  may  be  well  armed  to  contend  against 
those  who  do,  and  to  help  on  the  cause  of  God  by  over- 
throwing it. 

To  this  position  men  have  come  but  slowly.  To  say  that 
the  doctrine  ought  to  have  been  held  abominable  a  century 
ago,  would  be  absurd.  The  mass  of  men  cannot  be  before 
their  age,  and  the  doctrine  of  eternal  hell  could  not  strike 
the  religious  men  of  the  past  as  immoral.  Neither  their 
idea  of  God  nor  their  idea  of  man  fought  against  it.  Men 
did  not  believe  then  in  the  universal  brotherhood  of  man, 
and,  therefore,  could  not  believe  in  the  universal  Father- 
hood of  God.  But  from  the  moment  that  in  the  political  and 
social  sphere  of  thought  the  idea  of  mankind  as  one 
nation  of  which  all  men  were,  by  right  of  their  manhood, 
citizens,  and  of  all  men  as  forming  a  universal  brotherhood, 
took  shape  and  ran  like  fire  over  the  world,  kindling  the 
commonest  soul  into  passion — the  doctrine  of  universal 
redemption  began  to  grow  in  the  minds  of  men.  Religious 
men,  arguing  from  what  they  felt  as  citizens,  con- 
ceived a  loftier  notion  of  the  duties  of  God's  King- 
ship. He  owed  it  to  Himself,  they  felt,  to  redeem,  and 
ennoble,  and  make  perfect  His  subjects.  And  arguing 
from  what  they  felt  as  brothers  one  of  another,  they  felt 
that  in  the  realm  of  religion  universal  brotherhood  could 
only  be  spiritually  based  on  a  doctrine  of  God's  universal 
Fatherhood.  If,  then,  God  is  the  Father  of  all  men,  and 
men  His  children,  it  is  incredible  that  a  Father  can 


Eternal  Punishment.  47 

send  to  utter  moral  ruin  and  eternal  pain  the  greater  part  of 
His  children.  If  He  does,  He  cannot  be  a  Father;  He 
has  no  sense  of  the  duty  of  a  Father,  nor  of  the  love  of  a 
Father.  If  eternal  hell  be  true,  we  have  no  God  at  all,  or 
none  we  choose  to  worship.  And  the  declaration  through 
Christ  of  God's  Fatherhood  is  the  cynical  mockery  of  a 
tyrant. 

That  kind  of  argument  took  root  in  this  country  first 
through  means  of  the  poets,  who  feel  more  strongly  than 
other  men  the  duties  and  necessities  of  the  heart.  Then  it 
stole  into  the  mind  of  the  laity,  and,  lastly,  it  reached  the 
clergy,  and  it  will  not  be  long,  though  it  lingers  among  the 
natural  conservatives  of  the  Church  of  Christ,  before  the  old 
doctrine  perish  out  of  every  pulpit  in  the  land,  and  the  test 
of  orthodoxy  be  no  longer — "  Do  you  believe  in  the  devil  ? 3> 
but  this — "  Do  you  believe  in  God  the  Father  ?  " 

The  doctrine  of  eternal  punishment  ought  to  be  denied, 
because  of  its  evil  fruits.  A  good  tree  does  not  bring  forth 
corrupt  fruit,  and  we  owe  to  this  doctrine  all  the  slaughter 
and  cruelty  done  by  alternately  triumphant  sects  in  the 
name  of  God.  It  gave  birth  to  the  Inquisition ;  it  drove  the 
Jews  to  unutterable  misery ;  it  burnt  thousands  of  innocent 
men  and  women  for  witchcraft ;  it  tortured  and  rent  the 
bodies  and  souls  of  men ;  it  depopulated  fertile  lands  ;  it 
ruined  nations ;  it  kept  the  world  for  centuries  in  darkness ; 
held  back  civilization  ;  and  in  all  ages  urged  on  the  dogs  of 
cruelty  and  fanaticism  to  their  accursed  hunting. 

So  dreadful  were  its  deeds,  that  a  door  of  escape  was  pro- 
vided.from  its  full  horror  by  the  Church  of  the  time.  The 
doctrine  of  purgatory  and  of  prayers  for  the  dead  was  the 


48  Eternal  Punishment. 

reaction  from  its  terrors,  and  it  saved  religion.  Unrelieved 
by  this  merciful  interposition,  eternal  punishment  would 
have  slain  the  world. 

Those  were  its  fruits  in  the  past,  and  on  this  account  we 
ought  to  deny  its  truth.  But  now  we  ought  to  fight  against 
its  lies  day  by  day ;  for  we  who  do  not  believe  it  have  no 
notion  of  the  harm  it  is  doing  to  those  who  do  believe  it. 
We  are  bound  to  contend  against  it  if  we  have  any  desire 
that  a  nobler  Christianity  should  prevail  among  men,  for 
its  teaching  drives  men  into  violent  atheism.  The  less 
educated  classes,  who  yet  feel  strongly,  and  perhaps  more 
strongly  than  the  educated,  the  things  of  the  conscience  and 
the  heart,  say  that  it  denies  all  their  moral  instincts.  And 
so  it  does.  It  makes  them  look  on  God  as  an  unreasoning 
and  capricious  tyrant,  and  they  turn  from  Him  with  dread 
and  hate.  It  makes  them  consider  the  story  of  redemption 
as  either  a  weak  effort  on  the  part  of  an  incapable  God  to 
save  man,  or  a  mockery  by  Him  of  His  creatures  on  the 
plea  of  a  love  which  they  see  as  derisive,  and  a  justice  which 
they  see  as  favouritism.  And  till  we  free  the  teaching  of 
Christianity  from  this  doctrine,  religious  teachers  will  still 
continue  to  give,  as  they  do  now,  the  greatest  impulse  to 
infidelity  among  the  working  classes,  an  impulse  much 
greater  than  any  given  by  all  the  materialism  of  philosophers, 
or  all  the  attacks  of  iconoclasts. 

As  to  its  influence  on  educated  men,  it  is  this.  It  throws 
an  air  of  fiction  over  the  whole  of  Christian  teaching.  These 
men  cannot  believe  it  if  they  believe  in  God.  It  represents, 
even  apart  from  God,  no  idea  at  all  to  their  minds.  They 
know,  being  accustomed  to  reasoning,  that  the  idea  of  ever- 


Eternal  Punishment.  49 

lasting  punishment  is  inconceivable.  But  they  are  told  that 
it  is  bound  up  with  the  whole  of  Christian  doctrine ;  that  if 
they  do  not  believe  it  they  cannot  believe  the  rest.  They 
do  not  like  to  openly  leave  their  Church  or  sect,  and  to 
profess  themselves  unbelievers ;  they  are  thus  driven  to  a 
mere  conventional  assent ;  till,  by  degrees,  Christianity 
(infected  in  their  minds  by  this  false  doctrine)  drops 
altogether  out  of  their  heart  as  a  life-impelling  power.  They 
see  what  they  believe  to  be  a  fiction  walking  about 
unchallenged  and  unreproved  among  doctrines  which,  un- 
accompanied by  this  traitor,  they  could  receive  as  honest 
and  true,  but  which,  bound  up  with  it,  they  must  reject. 
And,  sooner  or  later,  they  do  reject  the  whole.  The  one 
black  sheep  has  infected  all  the  flock,  and  all  the  flock  are 
slain. 

It  has  as  evil  a  result  in  the  case  of  those  who  teach  it — 
and,  indeed,  in  the  case  of  those  who  are  silent  about  it  but 
accept  it — for  it  makes  them  unconsciously  false.  Of  all 
who  teach  it,  who  believes  it  ?  Only  a  few !  The  rest 
think  they  do,  but  do  not.  If  they  did,  it  would  tell  more 
vitally  on  their  lives.  A  living  faith  in  any  truth  influences 
the  whole  life,  changes  character,  modifies  or  rules  all  our 
dealings  with  men ;  and  the  belief  in  eternal  goodness  has 
that  power.  But  the  belief  in  eternal  evil  (for  eternal 
punishment  means  eternal  evil)  has  scarcely  any  power  over 
the  daily  thoughts  and  acts  of  men.  In  more  than  half  the 
acts  and  thoughts  of  those  who  say  they  hold  it,  it  is 
implicitly  denied.  The  greater  number  of  those  they  meet  are 
damned  to  eternal  torture,  to  torture  endlessly  renewed  with 
exquisite  skill,  so  that  when  countless  ages  have  rolled  away, 


5O  ,     Eternal  Punishment. 

it  cannot  be  said  to  have  begun,  and  into  every  moment 
an  eternity  of  pain  is  pent ;  and,  believing  this  of  their 
friends,  and  relatives,  and  fellow-men,  they  can  eat  and 
drink  peacefully,  and  beget  children  for  whom  that 
fate  is  reserved,  and  move  without  infinite  horror  among 
men.  Nonsense  !  They  do  not  believe  it  at  all.  Do  you 
imagine  there  are  a  hundred  persons  in  England  who 
believe  in  eternal  evil  as  they  believe  in  eternal  goodness  ? 
They  might  as  well  know  their  own  minds  and  say  at  once, 
"  No  !  we  do  not  believe  it.  It  has  no  influence  at  all  on  our 
lives."  But  that  is  just  what  they  will  not  do,  and  they  reap 
their  reward.  They  sow  to  lies,  and  they  reap  lying  within. 
They  think  by  asserting  and  asserting  to  convince  themselves 
and  the  world  of  their  faith.  The  world  smiles  behind  its 
sleeve  while  they  spend  half  their  time  in  diligently  hiding 
away  the  fact  that  they  do  not  believe  what  they  say  they 
do,  till  all  their  teaching  becomes  unreal. 

They  reap  their  reward,  I  say.  It  is  a  terrible  business 
to  have  a  falsehood  domiciled  with  truths.  It  is  worse  for  its 
possessor,  when  he  is  only  half  convinced,  or  not  at  all  con- 
vinced, of  its  truth,  to  take  the  greatest  pains  to  dress  it  up 
like  a  truth.  For  the  falsehood  gets  no  good  from  the 
truths,  but  the  truths  all  get  maimed  by  the  falsehood.  These 
men  talk  of  the  love  of  God,  and  His  mercy,  and  His  pity, 
and  His  justice,  and  His  righteousness,  and  His  fatherhood, 
and  the  goodness  of  salvation.  All  the  time  they  are  talking, 
this  hideous  companion  in  their  own  soul  is  laughing  at  all 
these  things.  Love  of  God  !  What  of  eternal  torture  ? 
Righteousness  of  God  !  What  of  eternal  evil  ?  Good  news, 
salvation  !  Fling  them  to  the  winds  !  And  this,  which  goes 


Eternal 

on  often  in  their  own  mind,  goes  on  still  more  in  the  minds 
of  those  who  listen,  until  the  trail  of  a  lie  and  its  sickly 
smell  defile  their  whole  religious  life.  This  evil  belongs 
chiefly  to  the  Protestant,  less  to  the  Roman  Catholic. 
The  latter,  at  least,  is  better  off.  He  has  a  chance,  and 
more  than  a  chance,  of  escaping  this  eternal  doom. 

That  is  one  set  of  reasons  why  you  should  denounce  the 
doctrine  of  eternal  punishment.  But  those  who  most 
strongly  assert  this  doctrine  put  forward  an  ethical  objection 
to  the  opposite  doctrine  of  universal  redemption,  which  is  at 
least  worth  considering.  They  say  that  the  denial  of  the 
doctrine  of  eternal  punishment  produces  the  greatest  of 
evils,  because  it  destroys  the  doctrine  of  retribution,  and 
weakens  our  fear  of  doing  wrong  by  taking  away  the  punish- 
ment of  wrong  doing.  This  is  the  ethical  objection,  and  it 
has  its  weight. 

But,  in  answer,  I  ask,  first,  what  efficacy  has  fear  in  either 
bringing  a  man  to  God  or  in  deterring  him  from  sin?  It 
is  not  the  terror  of  Christ,  but  the  love  of  Christ  which 
constraineth  us  to  give  up  our  guilt.  The  weapon  of 
religious  terror  is  always  a  devilish  weapon,  and  it 
drives  men  to  the  devil.  It  confuses  and  renders  idiotic  a 
weak  man.  It  hardens  a  strong  one  into  fierce  rebellion. 
It  drives  some  to  despair  or  wretchlessness  of  unclean  living; 
others  to  scorn  or  hatred  of  God ;  and  the  sacrifices  it  makes 
(unlike  those  made  by  a  heart  broken  by  love)  are  the 
sacrifices  that  the  savage  makes  to  his  god,  of  whose 
character  he  is  ignorant,  or  whom  he  fears  because  of 
ignorance. 

As  to  its  fruits,  what  are  they  worth?    The  obedience 

D    2 


52  Eternal  Punishment. 

wrung  from  a  child  by  the  uplifted  lash,  the  reverence  given 
through  fear  ;  would  that  please  you,  fathers  and  mothers  in 
this  congregation  ?  What  would  you  think  it  worth  ?  It  is 
selfishness,  not  obedience  !  And  do  you  think  that  God 
wishes  that  selfish  cry,  or  that  He  fancies  it  obedience  ?  If 
so,  what  sort  of  God  is  He  ?  Is  a  God  obeyed  only 
through  fear  worth  obeying  at  all?  Is  this  religion,  or 
superstition  and  idolatry  ?  No,  we  lose  nothing  in  getting 
rid  of  the  motive  of  fear,  as  the  motive  of  religion. 

But,  in  getting  rid  of  that  motive,  and  in  denying 
the  eternity  of  hell,  do  we  in  truth  destroy  the  doctrine 
of  retribution  ?  Not  at  all — we  establish  it,  and  are 
enabled  to  assert  it  on  clear  and  reasonable  grounds. 
First,  we  can  believe  in  it.  The  heart  and  the  conscience 
alike  refuse  to  believe  in  everlasting  punishment.  The 
imagination  cannot  conceive  it.  The  reason  denies  its 
justice  ;  but  the  retribution  taught  by  the  opposite  doctrine — 
That  God's  punishment  is  remedial,  not  final,  that  it  is 
exacted,  but  that  it  ends  when  it  has  done  its  work — is  con- 
ceivable, is  allowed  by  the  heart  for  its  root  is  love  ;  is  agreed 
to  by  the  conscience  for  it  is  felt  to  be  just ;  is  accepted  of 
the  reason  for  it  is  based  on  law. 

It  is  only  when  we  deny  eternal  punishment  that  we  can 
assert  in  a  way  in  which  it  can  be  believed  the  doctrine  of 
retribution. 

And,  in  our  belief,  the  ground  of  retribution  is  this  :  That 
God  cannot  rest  till  He  has  wrought  evil  out  of  all  spirits, 
and  that  this  work  of  His  is  chiefly  done  by  causing  us  to 
suffer  the  natural  consequence  of  sin.  The  very  root,  then, 
of  our  belief  in  the  non-eternity  of  punishment  involves  an 


Eternal  Punishment.  53 

awful  idea  of  punishment.  For  on  this  ground  God  will  not 
cease  to  be  a  consuming  fire  to  a  man  till  He  has  destroyed 
all  his  evil.  Nor  can  He  cease.  The  imperative  in  His- 
nature  binds  Him  to  root  out  evil,  and  God  does  His  duty 
by  us.  Does  this  view  destroy  and  not  rather  assert  retribu- 
tion ? 

We  can  all  understand  that.  Introduce  evil  into  your 
life,  and  you  are  introducing  punishment.  God  will  not  rest  till 
He  has  consumed  it.  Sow  to  the  flesh,  and  you  will  of  the 
flesh  reap  corruption  ;  you  shall  eat  the  fruits  of  your  own 
devices,  and  find  in  them  your  hell.  And  God  will  take  care 
that  you  do.  For  His  love  knows  well  that  only  by  knowing 
the  bitterness  and  death  of  sin,  you  can  be  brought 
to  hate  it,  repent  of  it  and  cry,  "  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my 
Father."  Nor  will  God  spare  a  single  pang,  if  only  He  can 
bring  us  to  His  arms  at  last.  Punishment  here  and  in  the  world 
to  come  is  no  dream,  but  a  dread  reality.  But  it  is  strictly 
and  justly  given,  and  naturally  it  comes  to  a  close.  One 
cry  of  longing  repentance  changes  its  quality,  one  bitter 
sorrow  for  wrong,  one  quick  conviction  that  God  is  love 
and  wishes  our  perfection.  But  to  produce  that  repentance, 
and  till  it  is  produced,  God's  painful  work  on  our  evil  is 
done  and  will  be  done. 

That  is  not  the  work  of  a  tyrant,  but  of  love.  It  is 
no  weak  love,  such  as  we  are  accused  of  preaching.  It  is 
the  mighty,  all-knowing  love  which  looks  to  the  end,  and  in 
merciless  mercy  uses  the  means.  It  is  love  according  to 
law ;  the  kind  of  love  of  which,  when  it  has  wrought  its 
saving  work,  we  acknowledge  the  justice.  It  is  love  which, 
though  it  causes  suffering,  does  not  injure  the  heart,  for  the 


54  Eternal  Punishment. 

root  of  it  is  not  desire  to  make  us  suffer,  but  desire  to 
make  us  pure,  and  true,  and  like  the  eternal  Love 
which  must  be  true  to  right  or  cease  to  be  love.  When  we 
have  faith  in  that  strong  tenderness  at  the  heart  of  punish- 
ment, when  we  know  that  every  suffering  God  inflicts  on 
man  is  born  of  His  desire  for  their  perfection,  of  His  long- 
ing to  make  us  all  His  own,  the  heart  rebels  no  more 
against  punishment,  nor  does  the  conscience.  The 
purified  conscience  itself  claims  retribution,  will  not 
be  content  to  be  let  off  from  punishment — because  were 
that  possible,  the  sanctity  of  perfect  law  would  suffer,  and 
injury  done  to  it  would  injure  the  whole  world.  The  more 
ennobled  the  moral  sense  of  man  becomes,  the  more  does 
he  insist,  even  to  his  own  pain,  on  retribution.  That 
which  I  have  sowed,  he  says,  I  must  reap. 

Then  you  may  say,  "  What  chance  has  a  man  of 
escaping  in  the  end,  if  he  is  bound  in  this  way  under 
law."  No  chance  at  all !  Things  in  God's  world  are 
not  chance  !  No  chance,  but  certainty  of  escape,  according 
to  law.  When  he  ceases  to  sow  weeds  he  ceases  to  reap 
weeds  ;  when  he  roots  up  the  useless,  poisonous  plants  in  his 
soul  and  burns  them,  then  the  soul  receives  the  good  seed, 
nourishes  it,  and  he  brings  forth  good  fruit.  Then  he  is  no 
longer  in  punishment,  retribution  has  become  reward ;  but 
both  are  terms  for  the  one  thing,  the  one  law — That  what  we 
sow  we  reap.  By  the  same  law  we  are  in  pain  or  in 
pleasure,  in  hell  or  in  heaven,  according  as  we  use  the  law. 
Surely  that  is  plain  enough,  sensible  enough — the  answer  of 
the  conscience  to  it  is  unhesitating  in  approval ;  the 
answer  of  the  scientific  reason  is  as  clear  in  its  approval. 


Eternal  Punishment.  55 

But,  some  say,  this  change  is  not  possible  hereafter,  man's 
character  is  fixed  at  death — as  the  tree  falls,  so  it  lies — they 
that  are  filthy  are  filthy  still.  The  results  of  a  long  life  of 
sin  can  never  be  destroyed  or  altered.  Habits  once  rooted 
have  a  tendency  to  continue,  and  when  the  change  of 
death  comes,  we  enter  into  a  state  in  which  these  evil 
habits  have  unrestricted  room  to  develop  themselves,  and 
do  so. 

First,  that  is  nonsense.  The  analogy  of  nature  is  against 
it.  A  tract  of  the  earth  may  have  got  into  a  habit  of  earth- 
quakes, but  the  upheaving  force  exhausts  itself,  and  then 
nature  repairs  her  wrongs,  and  the  desert  of  lava  becomes  a 
fruitful  field.  An  evil  climate  has  slowly  degraded  a  species. 
But  if  the  climate  change,  the  animals  gain  new  powers, 
seizing  and  appropriating  what  is  useful  for  their  development. 
But  these  are  only  analogies.  The  facts  are  against  this 
brutal  theory.  I  have  known  men  who  have  been  idle  for 
years  become  hard  workers  under  a  new  impulse,  and  those 
who  have  been  under  the  power  of  habits  of  evil,  such  as 
^eize  on  body,  and  soul,  and  spirit,  overcome  those  habits 
and  become  new  men ;  and  if  that  happens  even  once,  the 
single  example  refutes  this  theory,  if  we  assume  a  God  of 
love  who  is  working  with  incessant  impulses  upon  human 
souls. 

"  But  He  does  not  work  so  hereafter,"  they  say,  "  in  the 
world  to  come."  There  is  the  real  point,  then,  and  what 
have  we  to  say  of  it  ? 

It  asserts  either  God's  powerlessness  to  redeem  the 
guilty  or  His  unwillingness  to  do  so  ;  the  first  assertion 
is  treason  to  Him,  and  the  second  blasphemy.  If  God 


5  6  Eternal  Punishment. 

cannot  save,  what  becomes  of  His  omnipotence?  If  God  will 
not  save,  what  becomes  of  His  love?  And  if  love  be  violated, 
what  becomes  of  His  justice  ?  In  the  acid  of  this  theory 
God  is  utterly  dissolved. 

"  No,"  it  is  said,  "  sin  is  justly  punished  with  eternal 
ruin,"  because,  done  against  an  infinite  God,  it  is  itself 
infinite,  and,  therefore,  requires  infinite  punishment.  That 
is  a  statement  which  catches  the  understanding  in  a  trap 
and  persuades  it  that  it  is  satisfied  by  a  show  of  logic,  by  a 
clink  of  words  ;  and  it  has  had  in  times  past,  and  even  now, 
a  certain  charm  and  attraction  about  it  for  many  persons, 
such  as  a  riddle  has,  or  a  trick  of  words  which  always  seems 
on  the  point  of  being  discovered,  but  never  is  discovered,  be- 
cause it  cannot  be  discovered.  And  thousands  have  lived  and 
died  believing  it.  I  do  not  blame  them  in  the  past.  The 
idea  of  God  was  built  up  on  the  idea  of  a  despotic  king. 
But  I  do  blame,  and  severely,  those  who  believe  it  now — 
because  the  higher  light  has  come,  and  they  shut  their  eyes 
to  it.  No  one  now  thinks  that  might  makes  right,  and  yet, 
some  men  still  continue  to  impute  that  wickedness  to  God. 
Moreover,  what  does  the  theory  really  assert?  It  asserts 
not  only  eternal  punishment,  it  asserts  eternal  evil.  It 
gives  to  evil  the  essential  ground  of  the  nature  of  the  Deity, 
and  makes  two  eternal  powers  in  the  universe,  and  these 
two  for  ever  in  opposition.  It  makes  absolute  goodness 
contentedly  or  uncontentedly  permit  absolute  evil.  It  strips 
God  of  omnipotence,  for  it  is  wholly  impossible  to  conceive 
— without  destroying  the  very  nature  of  goodness — that  it 
has  the  power  to  destroy  evil  and  does  not  exercise  it. 
God  cannot  allow  eternal  evil  and  continue  God.  And 


Eternal  Punishment.  57 

if  He  allows  eternal  punishment,  He  does  allow  eternal 
evil.  It  is  a  vile  conception,  and  if  it  were  true,  we 
should  be  forced  to  pray  to  a  cruel  power  for  the  only 
favour  we  could  with  all  our  hearts  desire  for  the  world 
and  for  ourselves,  the  favour  of  instant  and  complete  an- 
nihilation. 

But  lastly,  it  is  said,  that  if  eternal  punishment  be  not 
true,  neither  is  eternal  blessedness.  They  stand  and  fall 
together,  and  if  we  destroy  the  belief  in  everlasting  punish- 
ment we  destroy  the  belief  in  everlasting  happiness.  That 
statement  also  sounds  well.  But  what  does  it  really  mean  ? 
Translate  it  into  clear  words,  and  its  falseness  at  once 
appears.  Eternal  punishment  asserts  eternal  evil,  as  eternal 
happiness  asserts  eternal  goodness,  and  then  the  statement 
is  actually  this :  If  eternal  evil  be  not  true,  neither  is  eternal 
goodness.  And  that  is  not  only  blasphemy  but  folly. 
Goodness,  if  there  is  an  everlasting  God,  is  naturally  eternal, 
self-existent,  without  beginning  and  without  end.  And  the 
heart  and  reason  of  mankind  accept  that  statement.  It  is 
on  that  ground,  of  the  natural  and  essential  everlastingness 
of  goodness,  that  we  believe  in  the  naturalness  and  necessity 
of  everlasting  happiness  for  those  who  are  good  at  death,  or 
become  good  after  it. 

On  the  other  hand,  everlasting  misery  is  neither  natural, 
necessary,  nor  possible,  just  because  evil  is  not  necessarily 
eternal.  That  is  not  eternal  which  has  an  origin,  and  evil 
had  a  beginning;  that  is  not  eternal  which  is  not  self-existent 
and  absolute,  and  evil  is  neither  one  nor  the  other,  unless  we 
say  that  evil  is  in  God.  The  eternity  of  good  does  not 
involve  the  eternity  of  evil.  On  the  contrary,  it  implicitly 


58  Eternal  Punishment. 

denies  it.  The  argument  is  all  the  other  way.  If  ever- 
lasting happiness  be  true,  it  means  everlasting  goodness  ; 
and  if  everlasting  goodness  be  true,  it  means  that  evil 
cannot  be  everlasting  ;  and  if  evil  be  not  everlasting,  punish- 
ment cannot  be  everlasting. 

But,  after  all,  what  should  we  need  of  argument,  if  men 
would  listen  to  the  God  within  their  own  hearts.  Ask 
those  whose  hearts  are  pure,  who  hate  evil  with  the  same 
passion  with  which  they  love  God,  whether  they  have  ever 
conceived  of  the  possibility  of  eternal  sin  except  in  connec- 
tion with  a  sense  of  disbelief  in  God,  or  at  least  have  ever 
felt  that  the  answer  of  their  own  heart — in  moments  when  it 
was  most  consciously  filled  with  God — to  the  question,  Is 
evil  eternal  ?  came  as  clearly  as  the  answer  to  the  question, 
Is  good  eternal  ? 

When  we  think  of  the  eternity  of  sin,  life  is  accursed, 
shrouded  in  unmixed  and  fatal  gloom.  The  world  is  hope- 
less, its  vice  and  sorrow  bound  on  it  for  ever,  and  eternity, 
even  if  we  are  saved,  stained  and  blackened  with  unfading 
horror ;  and  God  Himself,  our  King,  an  unrelenting  tyrant 
who  either  cannot  or  will  not  conquer  sin.  We  are  told 
that  God  has  conquered  the  evil  of  the  lost,  because  He  has 
trampled  them  down  for  ever  and  ever  into  hell.  That  is  not 
conquest,  but  rather  the  notion  which  a  savage  chieftain 
has  of  conquest.  It  only  subdues  the  outward  powers,  and 
leaves  within  the  heart  of  millions,  still  burning  unsubdued, 
the  unconquerable  will  to  do  wrong,  the  "study  of  revenge, 
immortal  hate,  and  courage  never  to  submit  or  yield,  and 
what  is  else  not  to  be  overcome." 

But  when  we  think  of  the  eternity  of  goodness  and  its 


Eternal  Punishment.  59 

victory — and  this  we  have  now  been  driven  to — the  soul 
exults,  even  the  blood  stirs  with  joy ;  all  nature  seems  to 
sing  along  with  us.  Life  puts  on  its  noble  aspect.  In  our 
loneliness  high  thoughts  and  hope  are  our  companions  ; 
among  the  crowd  of  men  the  light,  and  life,  and  joy  of  God 
move  along  with  us.  All  work  is  dignified  and  great. 
Things  seem  worth  the  doing,  thoughts  worth  thinking, 
endeavours  worth  perseverance,  temptations  worth  resisting, 
trials  worth  the  toil  of  conquering  them,  life,  even  the 
commonest,  worth  living  nobly  to  the  end.  The  curse  of 
time  departs.  We  can  behold  all  the  energy  of  decay, 
but  can  still  rejoice.  We  know  that  God,  who  made  all 
things  fair,  lives,  and  will  live  for  ever  till  He  lias  made 
decay  into  life,  and  all  the  things  that  failed  as  fair  as  their 
ideal — for  His  goodness  is  infinite  in  the  accomplishment  of 
beauty. 

And  the  wild  sorrow  of  the  world,  tossing  like  a 
midnight  sea  its  uplifted  waves  to  heaven  in  supplication ; 
and  our  own  sorrow  and  the  passions  which  rend  and 
consume  the  heart,  each  an  atom  of  dark  water  in  that  sea 
of  sorrow;  and  the  vice,  and  crime,  and  selfish  greed  which 
make  of  earth  and  of  our  own  personal  life  so  ghastly  and 
so  drear  a  thing  when  our  eyes  pierce  beneath  the  sugared 
crust  on  which  we  pace  so  merrily,  as  if  there  were  no 
rottenness  beneath — there  is  but  one  truth  which  can 
obliterate  the  horror  of  that  vision,  which  can  enable  us  to 
fight  against  wrong,  and  to  conquer  in  the  end,  and  give  us 
power,  faith,  and  hope  in  face  of  this  awful  revelation.  It  is 
the  unconquerable  goodness  of  God,  the  conviction,  deep 
rooted  as  the  mountains,  of  His  infinite  love  and  justice, 


60  Eternal  Punishment. 

the  knowledge  that  the  world  is  redeemed,  the  victory  over 
evil  won,  and  that  though  the  work  is  slow,  not  one  soul 
shall  be  lost  for  ever.  For  he  shall  reign  till  He  hath 
subdued  all  things  to  Himself  in  the  willingness  of  happy 
obedience,  and  the  joy  of  creative  Love. 


6i 


[July,   1882.] 

THE  COMMUNION  OF  SAINTS. 

"Wherefore  seeing  we  also  are  compassed  about  with  so  great  a 
cloud  of  witnesses,  let  us  lay  aside  every  weight,  and  the  sin  which 
doth  so  easily  beset  us,  and  let  us  run  with  patience  the  race  that  is  set 
before  us. 

"  Looking  unto  Jesus,  the  author  and  finisher  of  our  faith."  — 
HEBREWS  xii.  i,  2. 

THE  Christian  Church  has  for  many  generations  set  apart  a 
day  for  the  observance  of  the  Feast  of  All  Saints  ;  and  its 
eve,  celebrated  in  poetry,  in  games,  by  wild  and  graceful 
superstitions,  and  bearing  in  its  practices  traces  of  heathen 
faiths  and  legend,  has  been  called  All-Hallows-Eve.  The 
Feast  was  originally  set  up  to  put  an  end  to  the  excessive 
multiplication  of  Saints'  Days.  These  grew  so  rapidly — each 
nation  wishing  to  honour  its  own  special  saints — that  more 
than  half  the  days  in  each  month  were  turned  into  holidays. 
Work  was  neglected,  and  laziness  seemed  in  danger  of 
developing  into  a  virtue.  The  Roman  Church,  then, 
while  it  wished  to  preserve  reverence  for  these  lesser 
saints,  wished  also  to  end  the  scandal,  and  threw  the 
veneration  and  love  of  all  these  holy  persons  into  one 
festival  instead  of  many,  and  the  day  was  called  the  Feast 
of  All  Saints.  The  term  included  not  only  the  lesser  but 
the  greater  saints  as  well ;  all  were  celebrated  together ; 


62  The 'Communion  of  Saints. 

and  the  festival  finally  became  the  poetic  form  in  which 
the  doctrine  of  the  Communion  of  Saints  was  enshrined. 

That  idea — the  inter-communion  of  all  who  were  holy — 
was  one  of  the  root  ideas  of  the  society  formed  by  Jesus 
Christ ;  and  no  greater  idea,  nor  one  more  original  at  the 
time,  has  ever  been  put  forward  in  this  world.  It  was  the 
first  great  international  conception.  It  made  a  country  of 
which  Greek  and  Jew  and  Roman  and  Oriental  and 
Barbarian  were  all  citizens,  and  in  brotherhood  with  one 
another.  Distinctions  of  race  and  character,  of  caste  and 
rank,  of  language  and  learning,  were  held  to  perish  before  the 
idea  of  this  society,  and  the  only  difference  among  its  mem- 
bers was  that  made  by  more  or  less  of  holiness  and  love  and 
faith.  It  conceived,  then — though  still  but  partially — of  a 
universal  humanity. 

Nor  was  it  content  to  include  only  those  living  on  earth. 
It  took  into  its  infinite  embrace  the  saintly  dead.  Time 
and  space  disappeared,  and  the  communion  of  spiritual 
life  and  love  was  established  with  all  those  who,  from  the 
beginning  of  the  world,  had  been  loving  and  holy,  and  who 
now  were  alive  in  God.  The  meanest  slave  in  a  Roman 
noble's  household,  the  stone  cutter  who  wrought  for  a  scanty 
wage  on  the  quays  of  Corinth,  was  in  vital  communion — if 
he  were  a  child  of  God — with  Adam  and  Enoch,  David  and 
Isaiah,  with  millions  of  uncounted  witnesses  for  truth  who 
were  watching  with  sympathy  and  loving  kindness  their 
difficult  and  lowly  life.  In  that  vast  assemblage  in  earth 
and  heaven  of  men  and  women  there  was  not  one  trace  of 
death.  What  prevailed  and  filled  the  infinite  circles  of 
those  who  had  passed  from  earth  was  keen  and  unquench- 


The  Communion  of 

able  life,  and  the  life  was  the  expression  of  their  eternal 
love.  This  was  the  invisible,  as  that  was  the  visible  Church 
and  both  were  one  assemblage.  One  spirit  was  theirs 
one  faith,  one  country,  one  home,  one  humanity,  one 
brotherhood,  and  one  Father. 

And  among,  and  for  ever  with  this  host  on  earth  and  in 
heaven,  was  Jesus,  their  master,  leader,  and  inspiring 
friend,  the  captain  of  their  salvation ;  him  in  whom  the 
ideal  of  their  human  nature  had  been  realized,  author  and 
finisher  of  human  love  and  faith  and  holiness,  whose  spirit 
ran  like  living  fire  through  them  all,  and  whom  they  loved 
with  love  which  could  endure  all  things  rather  than  be  false 
to  the  life  he  had  lived  before  them,  and  to  the  ideas  and 
passions  that  inspired  it.  They  had  in  him  the  human 
centre  of  their  communion,  and  the  host  in  heaven  and  the 
host  on  earth  were  one  in  him. 

But  this  was  not  enough.  There  was  still  needed  an 
eternal,  immutable,  absolute  centre  of  life  and  love  and 
power,  in  whom  and  by  whom  the  whole  assemblage  might 
consist,  and  be  for  ever  secure  of  continuance  and  of 
development ;  from  whom  life  and  love  and  holiness,  un- 
failing, increasing,  and  joyful,  might  for  ever  be  outpoured  ; 
so  that  progress  might  be  certain,  and  bliss  in  it  undying. 
And  this  was  God,  their  Father,  the  ground  of  all  association 
on  earth  and  in  heaven,  the  binding  power  of  the  whole, 
the  centre  of  this  Rose  every  petal  of  which  lodged  a  thou- 
sand thousand  souls ;  radiating  His  light  and  life  and  love  and 
might  to  every  human  heart,  and  in  the  unity  of  this 
spiritual  effluence  binding  them  all  to  Himself  and  to  one 
another. 


64  The  Communion  of  Saints. 

This  was  the  full  idea  of  the  early  Christian  Church,  and 
it  was  unique  in  the  history  of  religion.  But  no  great  idea 
remains  in  the  form  it  has  originally  taken.  It  develops 
with  the  further  development  of  mankind,  and  this  idea, 
long  kept  back  from  growth  by  being  bound  up  with  false 
or  limiting  opinions,  has,  since  the  outburst  of  more 
universal  ideas  concerning  humanity — an  outburst  of  which 
its  unconscious  working  was  the  cause  —  taken  a  fresh 
expansion.  It  is  no  longer  limited  to  certain  sects,  or 
visible  churches,  or  religious  castes.  It  embraces  all 
mankind.  It  says  that  because  God  is  the  Father  of 
all  men,  that  therefore  this  communion  of  saints  will  be 
co-extensive  in  the  end  with  the  whole  race  —  that  all 
will  be  brought  into  holiness,  all  live  with  the  life  of 
God,  all  be  filled  with  the  same  love  and  faith  with 
which  Jesus  was  filled.  The  Communion  of  Saints  will 
finally  be  identical  with  the  Communion  of  all  Humanity. 
This  is  the  final  form  which,  in  the  belief  of  all,  this 
conception  will  assume,  and  its  power  as  an  established 
faith  will  change,  exalt,  and  govern  the  whole  world. 

The  Positivist  idea  of  humanity  is  but  one  inadequate 
form  of  this  idea ;  inadequate  because  it  has  no  absolute 
centre  outside  of  humanity  ;  inadequate  because  it  is  more 
or  less  bound  up  with  the  opinion  of  the  death  and  anni- 
hilation of  every  human  being ;  and  degrading,  not  so 
much  because  it  is  accompanied  by  death  and  not  by  life, 
but  because  it  keeps  up  the  idea  of  a  kind  of  hell,  that  is,  of 
a  class  who  are  sacrificed  for  the  sake  of  a  few,  who  are 
useless  to  others  save  as  warning,  and  unable  to  live  in  the 
memory  or  in  the  lives  of  men.  Nevertheless,  as  it  does 


The  Communion  of  Saints.  65 

declare  a  communion  of  noble  men,  independent  of  national 
and  caste  differences,  it  is  useful,  and  so  far  will  live.  But 
it  only  lives  as  an  offshoot  of  the  original  thought,  and 
by  the  life  of  that  thought.  It  is  essentially  a  limited 
conception. 

Our  idea  is  far  different.  It  conceives,  first,  of  the  whole 
of  the  righteous  and  loving  beings  of  the  past  as  now  living 
in  God,  for  one  another,  and  for  those  on  earth,  and  ever 
moving  forward  into  loftier  life  and  work.  It  conceives  of 
all  those  in  the  past  who  have  died  while  yet  unrighteous 
and  unloving  as  also  moving  forward  into  holiness  and 
love,  until  they  join  the  great  assemblage  of  the  just  made 
perfect ;  until  they  also,  beginning  a  redeemed  and  noble  life, 
shall  feel  vibrating  through  them  the  loving  spirit  of  this  vast 
communion. 

It  conceives,  secondly,  of  the  present  human  beings 
abiding  on  this  earth  as  living  also  in  God,  the  holy,  con- 
sciously, the  unholy  unconsciously;  but  both  indestructibly 
bound  up  with  the  humanity  of  the  past,  watched  by  it, 
helped  by  it,  and  hour  by  hour  passing  onwards  into  nearer 
union  with  it. 

It  conceives,  thirdly,  of  the  whole  mass  of  beings  that  shall 
hereafter  live  upon  the  earth  as  conditionally  held  in  this 
communion,  fated  to  play  their  part  in  it,  and  finally  to 
complete  that  numberless  nation  of  humanity  which  shall 
take  its  part  among  the  other  forms  of  spiritual  being  in  the 
peopled  universe  of  God — a  perfect  race. 

And  through  all  the  past  humanity,  through  the  present, 
and  through  the  thought  of  the  future  humanity  which  lies 
still  unfolded  in  the  creative  thought  of  God,  one  thing  for 

E 


66  TJie  Communion  of  Saints. 

ever  moves  and  thrills — infinite,  universal  life.  One  quality 
for  ever  grows — it  is  holiness.  One  passion  for  ever  burns 
an  unquenchable  fire,  and  makes  life  for  ever  kindle  into 
fresh  joy,  and  holiness  for  ever  quicken  into  fresh  work — the 
passion  of  that  love,  which,  flowing  forth  from  God,  fills  and 
irradiates  the  universe. 

This  is  the  idea,  and  it  is  only  with  a  quiet  smile  that  one 
who  possesses  and  is  possessed  by  it  can  receive  the  invita- 
tion to  change  it  for  any  offered  to  him  by  the  new  religions. 
I  should  not  change  the  pearl  of  great  price  for  an  imitation 
pearl ;  not  the  music  of  the  spheres  for  a  discussion  on  its 
existence  ;  and  I  will  not  change  all  mankind  alive  in  God 
for  all  mankind  dead  in  dying  knowledge  ?  To  catch  and 
keep  the  best  Thought — that  should  be  our  struggle,  and 
when  we  have  got  it  and  love  it,  he  is  a  fool  indeed  who  does 
not  cling  to  it. 

And  the  more  we  cling  to  this  conception  and  love  it,  the 
greater  becomes  its  power  over  life.  It  becomes  a  ruling 
portion  of  that  faith  by  which  we  daily  live.  At  first,  only  a 
little  of  it  is  doubtfully  believed ;  the  full  splendour  of  the 
truth  only  unveils  itself  to  long  and  mingled  work  and  con- 
templation— work,  not  done  on  it  as  an  idea,  for  that  would 
bring  us  into  the  thorny  wood  of  theology,  and  finally  to 
the  caves  of  vanity  or  of  despair ;  but  done  for  men,  and 
among  them,  for  the  sake  of  the  truth  you  have  learnt,  and 
inspired  by  the  joy  of  the  idea — and  contemplation  of  it,  not 
as  an  abstract  thought,  but  of  it  as  it  takes  form  in  the  lives 
of  men,  of  its  power  as  seen  in  our  own  use  of  it. 

As  we  use  it  thus,  and  thus  contemplate  it,  it  will  develop 
itself  in  us  and  before  us ;  add  to  itself  within  us  the 


TJie  Communion  of  Saints.  67 

glories  it  always  possesses  without  us  in  the  mind  of  God ; 
until  it  may  be  granted  us,  before  we  die,  to  see  it  in  all  its 
fulness.  That  is  the  progress  of  all  great  truths  in  the  soul 
of  those  who  love  their  light.  They  seem  at  first  like  the 
thin  clear  sickle  of  pale  and  trembling  light  which,  seen 
through  dim  mist,  we  call  the  moon,  but  which,  night  after 
night,  grows  fuller,  till  at  last  in  death  we  behold  it 
rounded,  perfect — apparent  Queen  of  all  the  sky. 

That  is  belief  in  the  communion  of  humanity  in  God, 
and  no  time  is  enough  to  tell  of  its  results  on  the  inward 
and  outward  life.  They  vary  in  every  soul  that  believes 
the  truth,  being  conditioned  by  the  soil  in  which  it  grows. 
But  there  are  some  of  these  results  which  vary  little,  and 
among  them  are  certain  truths  which  most  console  human 
life.  These  are  the  best  to  speak  of  now;  for  the  world  is 
very  weary  and  sad  in  these  days.  It  needs  no  rough  treat- 
ment, but  consolation. 

The  first  is  that  this  faith  tells  us  that  we  are  never  alone. 
The  very  ground  of  it  is  that  in  the  midst  of  this  vast  world 
of  Being,  supporting  its  existence  and  pervading  it,  touching 
it  at  all  points,  and  conscious  of  the  life  of  every  soul  in  it, 
is  God,  our  Father,  at  once  the  vital  principle  by  which 
each  several  being — to  borrow  an  illustration  from  science — 
spins  on  its  individual  poles,  and  the  aether  in  which  inde- 
pendently it  moves.  He  knows  every  thought ;  He  feels 
every  sorrow  and  every  joy ;  He  supports  with  all  the  force 
of  law  every  effort  towards  goodness,  that  is,  towards  union 
with  the  eternal  in  the  universe ;  He  makes  us  feel,  when 
we  are  in  evil  thought  or  act,  our  contradiction  to  the  whole 
universe,  our  apartness  from  Him ;  till  at  last,  we  yield  our- 
selves to  goodness  only,  and  are  consciously  at  one  with  Him. 

E  2 


68  The  Communion  of  Saints. 

It  is  a  joy  so  great,  that  all  the  sorrows  and  pains  of  life 
may  well  be  borne  to  attain  it.  It  is  a  life  so  vivid,  so 
unspeakable,  that  the  whole  universe  of  nature,  and  the 
whole  past,  present,  and  future  of  humanity  seem  to  live 
within  us.  We  are  ourselves,  and  yet  we  are  all  nature, 
all  mankind.  And  the  paradox  is  true,  that  at  the  very 
moment  when  we  have  lost  personality  in  the  whole,  we  are 
most  conscious  of  the  rapture  of  life.  If,  even  after  many, 
many  years,  that  should  be  true,  and  true  it  will  be,  there  is 
no  greater  comfort  possible  to  man.  For  it  means  the  very 
absolute  of  perfect  joy  in  the  midst  of  perfect  goodness  and 
perfect  love. 

And,  secondly,  it  is  not  only  God  who,  according  to  this 
idea,  is  present  with  us  for  solace  and  for  power,  but  also 
all  the  noble  dead — all  who  live  in  God,  and  who,  through 
the  unity  of  His  pervading  spirit,  are  interwoven  with 
us  in  the  infinite  web  of  immortal  communion.  Their 
lives  are  mixed  with  ours.  Their  personal  sympathy, 
joy,  love,  and  comfort  are  communicated  to  us.  "Lo, 
I  am  with  you  alway,  even  to  the  end  of  the  world " 
was  no  foolish  saying.  "  I  will  not  leave  you  comfortless, 
I  will  come  to  you,"  was  no  mere  fanciful  expression.  Jesus 
knew  this  truth,  and  knew  what  he  would  be  able  to  do. 
And  what  he  said  as  man,  all  men  who  believe  as  he 
believed  this  truth  may  also  say,  when  dying,  to  those  they 
leave  behind.  We,  too,  can  whisper  with  a  smile  to  our 
friends  and  our  loved  ones  when  we  are  going  away — "  Lo, 
I  am  with  you  always ;"  "I  will  not  leave  you  orphaned  of 
my  presence,  I  will  come  to  you."  And  we  shall  be  able 
to  do  that  very  thing.  Yes,  we  who  are  struggling  here  are 


TJie  Communion  of  Saints.  69 

not  left  alone  by  the  dead  who  are  alive.  Not  only  God, 
but  our  own  humankind  are  with  us,  in  vital  communion, 
sympathizing  like  God  with  all  our  good,  sorrowing  for  all 
our  sin,  and  helping  us  in  all  our  trouble.  Jesus  is  the 
lover  of  our  soul,  and  so  are  all  the  holy  and  loving  souls 
who  live  in  the  eternal  world.  He  is  the  nearest,  and  the 
most  conquering  in  his  love  and  in  his  communion.  But 
yet  there  are  some  whom  we  have  known  and  loved  on  earth 
who  have  to  us  a  relationship  of  union,  not  so  powerful  in 
love,  but  nearer  in  human  bonds.  These  are  ours,  and  the 
tie  between  us,  though  they  are  not  seen,  is  closer  even 
than  it  was  on  earth.  What  is  its  ground,  where  is  its 
strength  rooted?  In  the  truth  of  the  Communion  of 
Saints. 

Finally,  there  are  two  things  more  to  say — One  is, 
that  all  the  joy  and  comfort  of  this  doctrine  depend  on 
our  becoming  pure  in  heart,  holy  in  word  and  deed.  We 
cannot  believe  in  a  Communion  of  Saints  until  we  are 
becoming  saintly.  All  the  glorious  forms  which  the  idea 
takes,  all  its  evolution  into  higher  and  higher  forms,  are 
destroyed  in  us  by  evil  doing  and  evil  thinking.  The  first 
and  foremost  way  to  gain  belief  in  it — the  gate  into  its 
splendour — is  the  struggle  to  gain  righteousness.  It  is 
an  idea  then  that  bears  on  conduct ;  and  it  unfolds  itself  to 
holiness.  If  you  want  it,  if  you  desire  its  consolation  and 
its  joy,  live  hour  by  hour  to  gain  a  pure  and  loving  heart. 

Communion  with  God  is  known  through  holiness.  The 
pure  in  heart  see  God.  Communion  with  humanity  in  God 
is  known  by  Love.  And  there  is  no  other  way  in  the  world 
by  which  we  can  believe  in  God  and  believe  in  Man. 


70  The  Communion  of  Saints. 

And,  secondly ;  when  we  think  of  this  vast  assemblage,  all 
united  in  a  communion  of  saintliness,  we  understand  that 
the  last  and  highest  range  of  human  nature  is  not  knowledge 
or  power,  but  holiness  held  in  love.  It  is  a  thought  we 
would  do  well  to  recall  in  the  midst  of  this  modern  life  of 
ours.  Here,  power,  wealth,  intellect  are  first.  There,  it  is 
different.  Power  dies,  disarmed  by  goodness ;  isolated 
wealth  has  no  place  in  the  celestial  country  where  all  have 
equal  welfare ;  knowledge  passes  away,  lost  in  love  which 
sees  what  knowledge  vainly  strives  to  find.  And  the  one 
thing  which  is  eternal,  which  is  the  root  of  true  power 
over  men,  which  is  the  true  wealth  because  it  possesses  the 
good  and  joy  of  all  things,  which  is  the  ground  of  all  true 
knowledge,  which  develops  out  of  itself  faith  and  hope  and 
love — is  goodness.  The  goodness  of  God  is  the  centre  of 
the  universe. 


[April  I,   1883.] 

A  TONEMENT. 

"And  I,  if  I  be  lifted  up  from  the  earth,  will  draw  all  men  unto 
me." — ST.  JOHN  xii.  32. 

IT  is  a  strange  phrase,  this  glorification  of  death.  For 
death  in  itself  is  vile,  and  men  shrink  from  its  presence. 
It  seems  to  be  the  remover  of  power,  the  destroyer  of  love, 
the  depriver  of  thought.  We  bury  out  of  our  sight,  with 
the  same  natural  dismay,  the  dead  king  of  men  and  the  dead 
clown,  the  dead  poet  and  the  dead  fool,  the  face  that  thrilled 
a  nation  and  the  brutalized  features  of  the  savage.  "  As 
the  one  dieth,  so  dieth  the  other,  so  that  a  man  hath  no 
pre-eminence  over  a  beast ;  for  all  this  is  vanity."  What 
is  death  but  horror  and  hatefulness  ? 

But  no  man,  not  even  the  materialist,  believes  that  this  is 
the  whole  account  of  the  matter.  It  is  not  death  which  is 
attractive  or  repulsive,  but  the  spirit  in  which  men  die,  or 
the  thoughts  awakened  in  us  by  their  death.  The  death 
of  a  selfish  man  has  all  the  hatefulness  of  death ;  but  the 
thoughts  awakened  when  a  noble  and  loving  character  has 
passed  away  draw  us  continually  round  his  memory.  We 
love  him  in  death,  because  he  is  alive  in  us,  an  inspiring  and 
quickening  power ;  we  are  drawn  to  him  because  his  life 
makes  us  hope  that  the  world  is  better  than  it  seems. 
And  around  his  grave  cluster  all  those  feelings  which 


72  Atonement. 

soften  the  heart  as  April  showers  the  grass  dried  by  the 
winds  of  March.  Regret,  love,  ennobling  sorrow,  sympathy 
with  all  who  loved  him,  delight  that  he  has  been  so  good, 
yet  pain  that  so  much  is  lost  to  us,  faith  that  he  is  giving 
now  of  his  good  to  others,  spring  up  and  flower  and 
bear  fruit  in  us.  We  are  softened  and  inspired;  the 
life  we  lead  is  made  more  delicate  in  the  midst  of  a 
world  whose  ways  are  dusty  and  whose  temper  is  hard. 
Being  lifted  up  from  earth  he  draws  men  after  him. 

But  the  main  thing  which  attracts  us  is  not  so  much  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  which  are  awakened  in  us,  as  the  spirit 
in  which  a  great  and  loving  man  meets  death.  The  sur- 
render of  life  for  the  sake  of  truth  in  defence  of  an 
idea  necessary  for  mankind;  the  conscious  sacrifice  of 
worldly  honour  and  of  wealth  for  the  sake  of  others,  the 
conquest  of  pain  and  fear  by  the  love  of  man — this  is  the 
attractive  power  of  the  cross.  It  is  the  one  thing  which  has 
in  all  ages  been  beautiful  to  men  beyond  all  other  beautiful 
things. 

Men  have  given  a  fleeting  worship  to  power  in  war  or 
power  in  intellect,  but  they  have  given  adoration  to  Self- 
sacrifice.  It  is  not  to  Caesar,  but  to  Washington  that 
we  turn  when  our  hearts  bestow  the  crown  of  glory 
on  the  rulers  of  men.  It  is  not  around  the  brilliant 
intellect  of  the  selfish  genius  that  our  love  and  reverence 
approach  to  worship,  but  round  the  prison  bed  of 
Socrates.  The  spirit  of  the  cross  of  Christ  still  and  for  ever 
attracts  the  soul.  "  If  I  be  lifted  up,  I  will  draw  all  men 
to  me."  There  is  but  one  supreme  beauty — the  beauty  of 
perfect  love;  and  it  wins  the  enduring  love  of  men.  "I, 


Atonement.  73 

if  I  be  lifted  up,  will  draw  all  men  to  me."  It  wins  also  the 
love  of  God — "  Therefore  doth  my  Father  love  me,  because 
I  lay  down  my  life  for  the  sheep."  This,  then,  is  the  attrac- 
tiveness of  the  cross ;  this  is  the  reason  why  all  nations  have 
come  to  pour  out  their  love  beneath  its  shadow !  For  all 
the  varied  and  partial  manifestations  of  this  annihilation  of 
self  through  love  of  truth  and  love  of  mankind  were  con- 
centrated in  the  life  and  death  of  Jesus  Christ. 

But  the  beauty  and  the  attractiveness  of  the  cross  are  not 
confined  to  Calvary.  The  spirit  of  the  cross  lives  in  men, 
and  wherever  it  is  found  it  does  its  work.  It  draws  us 
out  of  evil  by  its  loveliness,  and  when  we  are  convinced  of 
its  beauty,  we  rise  out  of  spiritual  death.  It  happens  some- 
times that  we  are  tempted  to  be  careless  about  truths,  to  hold 
moral  convictions  slightly,  to  drift  away  from  our  early  love 
of  a  life  above  the  common  standard  of  the  world.  We  are 
then  in  the  general  stream  of  things,  and  our  weakness  or 
our  desires  lead  us  to  go  with  the  current.  Now  and 
then,  led  by  a  higher  impulse,  we  contend  for  a  little 
time ;  but  at  last,  after  many  failures,  we  think  of  resistance 
no  longer,  and  our  life  becomes  trivial,  mean  or 
thoughtless.  Effort  will  not  at  first  redeem  us.  Only 
a  great  admiration,  only  the  vision  of  a  great  spiritual 
beauty  will  kindle  us  into  that  fire  of  love  which  will 
give  effort  power.  And  one  day  we  meet  a  man  who, 
through  evil  report  and  good  report,  has  been  true  to 
convictions,  who  has  lost  much  for  truth's  sake,  whom 
the  world  has  not  conquered,  but  who  still  loves  the 
world ;  and  there  comes  upon  us  a  new  inspiration  ! 
We  admire  and  love  and  become  ardent  to  be  like  him. 


74  Atonement. 

And  in  the  rush  of  love  \ve  take  up  again  the  ideals  of 
youth,  and  are  born  again  into  a  fresh  and  noble  life. 

What  has  done  this?  It  is  the  same  power  as  that  of  Christ's 
death  in  the  man.  It  is  that  he  has  been  enabled  to  show  forth 
in  his  life  the  beauty  of  the  sacrifice  Christ  put  into  these 
words  :  "  For  this  end  was  I  born,  and  for  this  cause  came 
I  into  the  world,  to  bear  witness  to  the  truth."  And  the 
loveliness  draws  us  to  itself.  An  atonement  with  good  is 
wrought  for  us  and  in  us. 

Or,  take  another  example.  We  are  tempted  in  the  midst 
of  comfort  to  complain  of  our  lot.  Without  pain,  without 
real  trial,  one  of  our  rose  leaves  is  crumpled.  We  magnify 
a  little  grain  of  difficulty,  which  if  we  were  less  troubled 
with  prosperity  would  weigh  lighter  than  a  feather,  into  a 
mountain.  And  it  is  strange  how  one  little  thing,  when 
dwelt  on,  establishes  a  power  over  us,  and  spoils  the  whole 
of  life.  The  veriest  trifles  seem  to  ruin  some  men's  lives. 
Yet  it  is  not  the  trifles  themselves,  but  our  dwelling  upon 
them  till  we  are  absorbed  in  self-consideration,  that  does 
the  evil  work.  Nay,  sometimes  in  our  prosperity  we  invent 
troubles,  because  our  life  is  monotonous  through  want  of 
labour,  and  end  by  believing  our  own  inventions  —  so 
vile  does  life  become  without  the  beauty  of  sacrifice ! 

I  remember  once  knowing  one  of  this  temper  whom  God 
led  into  friendship  with  a  man  who  moved  serenely  and  with 
love  among  his  fellows,  and  did  his  work  with  cheerfulness. 
To  him  the  complainer  entrusted  his  trifle  of  trouble,  and 
wearily  asked  for  sympathy.  And  the  sympathy  was  given, 
and  the  remedy  suggested,  as  if  the  slight  thing  were  really 
great.  And  through  the  sympathy,  effort  was  born  ;  and  in 


Atonement.  75 

the  air  of  effort  the  rose  leaf  began  to  grow  smooth  again. 
But  still  the  man  remained  untouched  by  love.  The  result 
of  selfishness  lasted,  though  the  cause  was  removed. 

One  day,  however,  he  made  a  discovery.  He  found  out 
that  his  friend,  whose  life  seemed  so  much  at  rest,  whose 
cheerful  activity  was  so  inspiring,  was  the  constant  victim  of 
a  disease  which  consumed  him  with  pain  ;  and  that  the  evil 
lives  of  other  men  kept  him  in  ceaseless  difficulty.  Yet 
there  was  no  complaint,  no  word  of  reproach  to  God,  no 
remissness  in  work,  no  disbelief  in  men.  He  loved  God,  he 
loved  the  world,  and  he  was  silent  concerning  his  own  pain. 

Then  shame  fell  upon  the  slothful  complainer,  redeeming 
shame,  shame  that  soon  lost  itself  in  wonder  and  love.  A 
new  ideal  of  human  life  was  born  within  him  ;  his  own  life 
seemed  base  in  the  light  of  this  revelation  of  true  beauty, 
and  yet  so  great  was  the  attractive  power  of  the  beauty,  that 
in  desire  to  be  at  one  with  it,  he  forgot  his  own  baseness 
and  pressed  forward  to  imitate  it.  He  was  saved  from  self, 
and  born  into  the  life  of  love.  What  was  this  beauty — 
what  was  it  which  drew  him  to  union  with  it  ?  It  was  the 
loveliness  and  the  power  of  the  cross  of  Christ  in  his 
friend. 

Even  so  now  is  Christ  always  redeeming  men  through 
other  men  who  are  like  himself;  even  so  is  the  true  efficacy 
of  all  atonement  continued  through  the  passing  years. 
Yes,  when  the  passion  of  self-surrender  begins  to  stir  in 
our  hearts,  we  feel  in  it  the  prophecy  of  all  the  love  and 
beauty  which  will  follow  from  it.  Its  first  breath  is  like  the 
earliest  airs  of  spring,  that,  flowing  through  the  winds  of 
March,  tell  of  the  change  and  loveliness  that  are  at  hand. 


76  Atonement. 

Spring  has  begun  in  our  hearts,  and  we  shall  produce 
leaf  and  flower  and  fruit,  the  harvest  of  love  and 
righteousness.  It  is  the  substance  of  things  hoped  for 
— this  first  attractive  power  of  sacrifice. 

ii.  But  it  is  said  that  Christ's  sacrifice  of  life  and  love 
not  only  attracts  to  itself,  but  also  redeems  us  from  sin. 
How  is  that  ?  Is  the  statement  true  ? 

We  will  be  content  to  find  an  explanation,  not  in  mystical 
interpretations,  nor  in  logical  schemes  of  redemption,  but  in 
the  doings  of  our  common  human  nature,  in  the  plain  and 
living  facts  of  human  life.  The  laws  which  ruled  the 
life  of  Jesus  were  the  laws  which  rule  the  life  of  all 
men.  That  which  is  called  his  atonement  is  no  isolated 
thing,  but  the  central  exhibition  of  an  existing  law  that 
every  day  is  at  work  among  us;  and  the  law  is — That  love 
when  revealed  creates  love,  and  that  love,  when  it  is  wholly 
given  for  others,  redeems  from  sin  those  who  believe  in 
love  by  destroying  the  root  of  sin,  by  killing  selfishness. 

First,  then,  the  sacrifice  of  Christ,  that  is  the  giving  up  of 
his  whole  life  in  love  to  mankind,  was  a  revelation  to 
us  that  God  was  not  anger,  or  jealousy,  or  vengeance,  or 
hatred — but  love,  and  love  to  us ;  that  He  did  not  need  to 
be  appeased  or  bought  off,  but  that  He  only  asked  us  to  be 
reconciled  to  Him,  and  to  love  Him.  And  that  revela 
tion,  when  it  is  believed,  saves  us  from  enmity  to 
God.  The  conviction  of  love  awakes  love.  "  What," 
we  say,  "  God  loves  me  ;  then  I  will  love  Him  !  "  And  to 
love  Him  is  to  love  goodness,  and  to  love  goodness  is  to 
do  goodness,  and  to  do  goodness  is  to  be  saved.  We  are 
drawn  to  God,  and  in  love  of  Him  we  are  saved. 


Atonement.  77 

That  is  not  difficult  to  understand.  It  is  within  all  our 
experience.  When  our  heart  is  filled  in  youth  with  that 
eager,  passionate,  all-absorbing  feeling  for  another  which 
men  call  love,  what  happens  ?  All  life  is  referred  to  the 
person  we  love,  our  self  is  lost,  we  are  delighted  to  surrender 
all  things ;  we  are  wholly  at  one  with  whom  we  love. 
So  it  is,  in  higher  fashion,  when  we  love  God.  We  lose 
ourself  in  love  of  our  Father,  in  love  of  His  character, 
in  love  of  truth,  and  purity,  and  perfection.  The 
very  root  of  sin  is  burnt  up  in  the  union  of  love.  Our 
whole  life  alters  in  the  passion  of  aspiration,  in  the  per- 
sonal delight  of  growing  like  to  Him.  It  matters  not 
that  the  growth  is  often  slow.  We  know,  in  loving,  that 
eternal  life  is  begun  in  us ;  that  the  power  is  now  within 
which  must  destroy  sin  in  the  end. 

That  is  part  of  atonement — of  our  reconciliation  to 
God  bringing  a  new  life  with  it ;  and  it  has  its  analogies 
in  our  common  life.  It  is  natural,  easy  to  be  understood, 
and  wholly  human. 

But  there  is  more.  We  are  reconciled  to  ourselves  ;  our 
whole  life  is  changed,  and  punishment  is  transmuted.  Let 
me  use  an  old  illustration  of  mine.  There  was  once  a 
widowed  mother  who  had  an  only  son.  All  her  love  was 
lavished  on  him,  her  life  spent,  her  work  done,  entirely 
for  his  service ;  not  a  moment  of  the  day  but  was  devoted  to 
him.  Her  love  became  a  common-place  to  him,  and  he  took 
it  as  we  take  the  air  we  breathe.  It  even  came  to  weary 
him.  His  life  became  thoughtless,  his  youth  made  him 
cruel.  Then  he  left  her  alone,  and,  far  away  in  the  great 
city,  wasted  her  substance  in  riotous  living,  till  he  had  spent 


78  Atonement. 

all  her  goods.  Afterwards  she  died ;  but,  though  neglected, 
slain  indeed  by  him,  her  love  had  remained  unbroken. 
Still  hoping  for  him,  still  forgiving,  her  last  words  were 
messages  of  love.  The  long  self-sacrifice  was  over. 

Had  it  been  in  vain  ?  Love  never  is  in  vain  ;  never 
faileth. 

The  son  heard  of  his  mother's  death,  returned  to  his 
village,  and,  in  the  quiet  evening,  went  to  see  her  grave. 
Then  all  came  back  upon  him,  her  long  patience,  her 
unwearied  love,  his  forgetfulness  and  her  remembrance,  the 
beauty  of  her  tenderness,  the  horror  of  his  ingratitude — and 
in  a  moment  the  careless  heart  was  broken.  A  spring  of 
love  gushed  from  the  rock,  and  the  softening  river  of 
penitence  began  to  flow.  Hatred  of  his  sin  awakened 
— it  was  sin  against  her  !  Self-loathing  stirred,  and  he  was 
tempted  in  despair  to  return  to  his  old  life.  But  then  he 
heard  of  her  last  words.  They  were  words  of  love.  She 
did  not  despair  of  him,  she  believed  in  him,  she  forgave  ; 
and  when  he  felt  that  he  was  still  loved,  he  took  a  nobler 
courage  than  that  of  despair,  and  the  renewal  of  his  life 
began.  "  She  shall  be  alive  to  me  !  "  he  cried.  "  There  is 
yet  time,  and  I  will  be  worthy  of  her  love.  I  will  be  all  she 
wished  me  once  to  be.  We  shall  meet  again,  and  I  will  fall 
at  her  feet  and  say,  '  Mother,  all  your  love  was  not  lost ; 
it  lived  in  me,  and  made  me  a  new  creature.' " 

And  it  was  true.  A  mighty  love,  awakened  by  love,  took 
him  away  from  self ;  he  thought  no  more  of  his  own  pleasure, 
but  of  what  hers  would  be.  His  whole  life  was  over- 
shadowed by  her  immanent  presence,  ruled  by  her,  renewed 
by  her ;  till,  at  last,  conscious  of  the  wonderful  change,  he 


A  tenement.  79 

knew  that  he  had  been  made  good,  and  was  reconciled  to 
his  own  life.  He  felt  sure  he  was  redeemed. 

But  had  he  no  punishment  ?  Oh  yes,  redemption  of  life 
through  the  awakening  of  love  for  love  is  not  primarily 
redemption  from  punishment.  Nay,  at  first  it  is  the  giving 
of  punishment.  The  pain  at  his  heart  was  keen,  so 
keen  that  one  might  almost  say  the  punishment  had  only 
now  begun.  But  it  was  remedial  punishment.  Born  of 
love,  it  worked  towards  the  same  end  as  love,  the  one  end 
towards  which  all  worked  now  in  him  :  the  regeneration  of 
the  life  through  the  regeneration  of  the  heart.  The  pain 
kept  her  goodness,  truth,  and  forgiveness  continually 
before  his  eyes.  It  stung  him  into  new  efforts  to  be 
worthy  of  her ;  to  do  for  others  all  that  she  had  done  for 
him.  And,  at  last,  through  the  work  it  did,  it  ceased  to  be 
felt  as  punishment.  When  he  became  wholly  at  one  with 
the  life  he  loved,  he  felt  pain  no  longer.  The  punishment 
had  lasted  till  it  had  ennobled  him,  till  it  had  wrought  in 
him  the  peaceable  fruits  of  righteousness.  Thus,  and  thus 
only,  was  he  redeemed  from  punishment. 

But  he  was  at  once  redeemed  from  self,  from  hardness 
of  heart,  from  inability  to  feel  punishment,  from  the 
tendency  to  yield  to  temptation,  from  a  base  life,  from  the 
sins  of  the  past.  He  was  a  new  man  in  love — nay,  a  new 
man  in  Christ  Jesus,  for  it  was  the  same  love  Christ 
felt,  which  dwelt  in  his  mother,  and  wrought  upon  him. 

Is  that  true  or  not  ?  Are  there  not  a  thousand  instances 
of  the  same  kind  occurring  in  the  world  around  us — friend 
who  so  saves  a  friend,  wife  who  so  saves  her  husband, 
minister  who  so  saves  his  people,  men  who  so  save  a 


So  Atonement. 

nation?  Is  that  simple,  human,  natural,  easy  to  be 
believed,  appealing  directly  to  our  reason,  affections, 
experience,  worthy  of  all  love  and  reverence,  irresistibly 
attractive  ?  If  so,  turn  and  believe  in  the  doctrine  of 
human  atonement  revealed  in  the  life  of  Jesus,  for  that  is 
its  inward  work,  as  its  outward  work  is  to  make  us  believe 
that  God  is  love. 

It  is  nothing,  I  repeat,  which  Christ  alone  can  do. 
It  is  something  he  did  fully  and  perfectly,  and  which 
we  all  can  do,  and  are  bound  to  do.  We  can  all,  in 
following  his  life,  reveal  that  God  is  love,  and  save  men 
by  love.  We  can  all  be  atoning  persons.  Put  aside  all 
the  difficulties  the  intellect  has  woven  round  the  doctrine. 
Do  not  seek  to  reduce  it  to  a  scheme,  do  not  bind  up 
its  beautiful,  simple,  and  natural  tenderness  in  logical 
propositions.  It  refuses  to  be  bound.  It  is  infinite,  for 
love  is  infinite.  See  it  in  its  human  and  divine 
simplicity  ;  do  not  call  it  a  doctrine,  call  it  a  law  ; 
see  it  as  the  perfect  fulfilment  of  the  common  law 
of  love,  whereby  all  redeeming,  comforting,  healing,  and 
blessing  work  has  ever  been  done  on  earth  and  will 
ever  be  done  in  heaven.  Then  accept  it  as  the  law  of 
your  life,  and  you  will  begin  to  live.  And  as  you  live 
by  it,  and  in  the  doing  of  it,  you  also  will  become  an 
atoner  in  the  same  way  that  Christ  made  atonement.  You 
will  know  the  meaning  of  being  saved  by  Christ,  of  being 
redeemed  by  his  death,  of  being  cleansed  from  your  sins 
by  him,  of  being  made  at  one  with  God  by  him ;  of 
fulfilling  in  your  own  life  his  salvation,  of  being  yourself, 
through  him,  through  dying  to  self  in  love,  the  Saviour 


A  tenement. 


81 


of  men,  the  cleanser  of  them  from  sin,  the  atoner  of 
them  to  God.  And  as  you  grow  up  into  him  in  this  life, 
the  beauty  that  eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  heart  imagined,  will 
be  yours.  You  will  know  at  last  in  all  its  meaning,  the 
import  of  the  text — "  I,  if  I  be  lifted  up,  will  draw  all  men 
to  me." 


82 


[April  8,   1883.] 
A  TONEMENT. 

"  Above,  when  he  said,  Sacrifice  and  offering  and  burnt  offerings  and 
offering  for  sin  thou  wouldest  not,  neither  had  pleasure  therein  ;  which 
are  offered  by  the  law  ; 

"Then  said  he,  Lo,  I  come  to  do  thy  will,  O  God.  He  taketh 
away  the  first  that  he  may  establish  the  second." — HEBREWS  x.  8,  9. 

IF  an  innocent  man  should  suffer,  what  is  the  common 
verdict  of  the  world  ?  It  says — "  There  is  a  crime  beneath 
the  seeming  innocence,  or  he  would  not  suffer."  That  was 
the  judgment  of  the  friends  of  Job,  and  the  book  of  Job 
gives  the  Old  Testament  answer  to  this  blind  opinion. 
The  complete  answer  is  in  the  death  and  suffering  of 
Jesus.  It  has  been  written  there  for  all  the  world 
to  read,  that  this  stupid  maxim  is  wrong.  Suffering  does 
not  always  prove  God's  anger,  nor  prove  the  sufferer's 
sin.  If  increase  of  love  were  possible,  never  did  the  Father 
so  deeply  love  the  Son  of  Man  as  at  the  hour  of  the  Cross  ; 
if  increase  of  righteousness  were  possible,  never  was  Jesus 
more  sinless  than  in  that  hour  of  human  agony  and 
apparent  defeat. 

Nevertheless,  it  is  astonishing  how  strongly  this  super- 
stitious view  of  God's  anger  as  manifested  in  human 
suffering  clings  to  the  minds  of  men.  It  has  vitiated  the 
whole  view  taken  of  the  death  of  Jesus  by  large  numbers  of 


\ 

A  tenement. 


S3 


the  Church  of  Christ.  They  are  so  unconsciously  influenced 
by  the  thought  that  where  there  is  suffering  there  must  be 
sin,  that  they  ransack  heaven  and  earth  for  arguments,  and 
violate  all  the  essential  ideas  of  God  and  man  to  account 
for  the  coincidence  of  the  suffering  and  of  the  sinlessness  of 
Jesus.  The  Cross  is  suffering  :  therefore,  somewhere  about 
the  sufferer  there  must  be  sin,  and  God  must  be  angry. 
But,  they  say,  Christ  had  no  sin ;  then  what  does  the 
suffering  mean  ?  Their  half-pagan  maxim  puts  them  into  a 
sad  dilemma. 

At  last,  light  comes  to  theni — not  spiritual,  but  logical 
light — and  the  thing  is  clear.  Man  sins,  they  say  :  and  sin 
against  an  infinite  Being  is  infinite,  and  deserving  of  infinite 
punishment.  A  debate  takes  place  in  the  nature  of  God. 
Justice  says  — "  I  must  punish,  I  will  take  the  law."  Mercy 
replies  "Have  pity."  "No,"  answers  Justice,  "I  must  have 
my  bond."  Then  love  steps  in — "  Is  there  no  way  to  make 
Mercy  and  Justice  at  one  ?  The  Son  of  God  is  infinite. 
Let  him  bear  as  man  the  infinite  punishment ;  let  the  sins 
of  the  race  lie  upon  him ;  let  Justice  exact  from  him  the 
forfeited  bond  ;  let  God's  anger  be  poured  upon  his  head. 
Then,  Justice  being  satisfied,  Mercy  can  have  her  gracious 
way."  And  this,  they  say,  was  done;  and,  therefore, 
the  Cross  is  no  exception  to  their  maxim — Where  there  is 
suffering,  there  is  God's  anger. 

I  do  not  say  that  this  theory  was  consciously  elaborated  out 
of  the  maxim,  but  it  certainly  is  its  child.  It  wears  on  its 
brow  the  traces  of  its  savage  heathen  paternity.  In  itself,  it 
is  entirely  a  work  of  the  mere  reasoning  faculty,  though  a 
special  spirituality  is  curiously  claimed  for  it.  There  is  not 

F  2 


84  A  tonement. 

a  trace  of  a  spiritual  intuition  in  it.  The  spiritual  intuitions 
are  all  against  it.  It  outrages  the  moral  sense.  If  I 
murdered*  a  man  to-morrow,  would  Justice  be  satisfied  if  my 
brother  came  forward  and  offered  to  be  put  to  death  in  my 
stead  ?  It  outrages  the  heart.  It  makes  a  father,  who  is 
perfect  love,  pour  his  wrath  upon  a  guiltless  son  at  the 
moment  when  the  son  in  perfect  love  chose  to  die  for  men. 
It  outrages  our  idea  of  God.  It  makes  Him  satisfied  with  a 
fiction.  It  makes  His  notion  of  justice  totally  different  from 
that  which  He  has  given  us.  It  represents  the  All-Wise  as 
in  a  painful  dilemma,  out  of  which  He  can  only  escape  by  a 
subterfuge.  It  divides  His  nature,  setting  one  part  of  it  in 
opposition  with  another — Mercy  against  Justice — and  so 
destroys  all  conception  of  His  self-unity. 

That  theory  has,  I  hope,  begun  to  disappear  from 
amongst  us,  but  it  is  on  the  most  absolute  contradiction 
of  every  point  of  it  that  we  base  the  doctrine  of  Atone- 
ment. It  is  well  not  to  lose  the  word,  even  at  the  risk  of 
misunderstanding.  The  word  is  a  good  one,  and  only 
needs  to  be  freed  from  false  ideas  to  express  quite  clearly 
true  ideas.  Christ  did  not  come  to  tell  us  that  God  needed 
to  be  reconciled  to  us,  but — that  we  needed  to  reconcile 
ourselves  to  Him  ;  Christ  did  not  come  to  tell  us  that  God 
was  angry  with  us  in  the  sense  here  spoken  of,  but  to  deny 
that;  and  to  reveal  to  us  the  very  opposite — "That  God 
loved  us,  and  longed  for  us  to  love  Him,  that  we  might  be 
delivered  from  our  sin."  Christ  did  not  come  to  die  for  us, 
the  innocent  for  the  guilty,  that  God's  justice  might  be 
satisfied,  and  because  of  this  satisfaction,  be  enabled  to 
show  mercy  to  us.  He  came  to  die  that  he  might  make 


Atonement.  85 

us  feel,  through  the  intensity  of  his  human  love,  how 
much  God  loved  us,  and  make  us  understand  that  God's 
justice,  though  it  punished,  was  final  mercy.  Christ  did 
not  come  to  tell  us  that  we  should  be  saved  if  we 
believed  in  his  righteousness  being  imputed  to  us,  but 
that  we  should  be  saved  if  we  lived  his  life;  because 
that  life,  being  the  same  in  kind  as  God's  life  of  love 
and  goodness,  and'  holding  in  it  the  power  of  right- 
eousness, was  incompatible  with  continued  sin.  Who- 
soever lived  in  that  love  was  saved  from  sin.  Christ 
did  not  come  to  enable  God  to  forgive  us,  he  came  to 
tell  us  that  God  had  forgiven  us.  And  it  is  in  the 
revelation  of  these  truths,  every  one  of  which  is  in  direct 
opposition  to  the  propositions  set  forth  by  the  forensic 
theory  of  Atonement,  that  the  good  news  of  Christ 
consists  ;  it  is  by  the  knowledge  of  these  truths,  and  faith  in 
them,  that  man  is  brought  nigh  to  God,  induced  to  love 
God,  made  at  one  with  God.  And  when  that  divine  and 
blessed  work  is  wrought  out  perfectly  in  every  man,  then  will 
all  Atonement  be  completed,  and  God  and  mankind  be  at 
one,  as  Jesus  was  when  he  said — "I  and  my  Father  are  one." 
It  was  to  free  us  then  from  this  false  and  pagan  view 
of  God — that  God  was  to  be  propitiated  by  bloody  sacrifice 
of  the  innocent  for  the  guilty — that  Jesus  lived  and  died. 
It  was  no  wonder,  and  it  is  no  wonder  that  men  refused  to 
be  reconciled  to  a  God  whose  justice  was  satisfied  by  the 
punishment  of  the  innocent ;  who  created  us  to  sin,  and 
then,  being  angry  with  us  for  sinning,  sent  us  hell ;  who 
followed  His  own  caprice  in  saving  or  condemning ;  who 
had  no  real  love  at  all  for  us,  only  love  for  His  own  power 


86  Atonement. 

and  glory  ;  and  who  remedied  the  mistake  He  permitted  us 
to  make  by  a  scheme  so  clumsy  and  so  unjust  that  it  would 
be  rejected  as  dangerous  to  morality  by  any  court  of  law  in 
ancient  Rome  or  in  modern  Europe.  For  a  parallel  to  it, 
we  must  fall  back  on  the  legends  of  savage  nations,  who 
derived  their  notions  of  divine  law  from  those  superstitious 
conceptions  of  the  gods  which  are  naturally  engendered  in 
the  minds  of  men  by  that  which  seemed  the  terrible  caprice 
of  the  powers  of  Nature.  And  it  is  a  view  of  God,  which, 
as  in  the  savage  it  produced  all  the  evils  and  abominations 
of  pagan  worship,  so  now  it  produces  all  the  evils  and 
abominations  of  religious  intolerance. 

Jesus  denied  it  altogether.  He  revealed  a  God  of  com- 
passion and  love,  whose  life,  he  said,  was  in  loving  all  His 
children.  They  had  sinned,  it  is  true,  but  God  asked  them 
to  unite  themselves  to  His  righteousness,  in  order  that  they 
might  sin  no  more.  No  propitiation  was  required  but  that 
which  would  be  wrought  in  their  own  hearts  when  they 
believed  that  God  was  love  and  came  to  ask  Him  to 
receive  them.  Men  feared  God,  but  Christ  said  their 
fear  was  foolish.  God  was  of  that  beautiful  and  heavenly 
character,  tender,  just,  fatherly,  ready  to  give  them  all 
His  Being,  that,  if  once  they  could  see  Him  as  He  really 
was,  fear  would  be  drowned  in  exceeding  love.  And  Jesus 
recorded,  in  words  of  eternal  loveliness,  in  the  parable 
of  the  Prodigal  Son,  the  way  in  which  God  felt  towards 
a  sinner — the  way  in  which  He  received  a  sinner  when 
he  came  to  himself  and  returned  to  his  Father.  Not  one 
word  about  propitiation,  not  one  word  of  any  condition 
save  that  which  is  contained  in  the  abandonment  of  a  foolish 


Atonement.  87 

life  and  the  rush  of  love  in  the  heart  which  cried,  "  I  will 
arise  and  go  to  my  Father  "  ;  in  the  rush  of  humility  and 
desire  to  be  good  which  cried,  "I  have  sinned  against  Heaven 
and  before  Thee,  and  am  no  more  worthy  to  be  called 
Thy  son."  Yet  God,  being  righteous,  could  not  abide  sin, 
and  He  did  demand  its  surrender,  and  sacrifice  for  sin. 
But  the  sacrifices  He  asked  for  were  such  sacrifices  as 
Jesus  made  to  God,  and  none  other  —  the  sacrifice  of 
pleasure  and  self-will  and  wrong  for  the  sake  of  being  like 
God  in  character ;  the  sacrifice  of  life  for  the  sake  of  the 
welfare  of  the  human  race  ;  the  sacrifice  of  self  made  day 
by  day  for  the  sake  of  truth,  justice,  freedom,  of  intellectual 
power,  of  spiritual  progress,  for  all  things  and  all  ideas  by 
which  the  advance  of  man  in  God  is  promoted  and  secured. 
God  did  not  demand  the  sacrifice  of  reason,  or  conscience,  or 
human  love,  for  to  sacrifice  these  things  would  be  to  sacrifice 
God  Himself  within  us — but  the  giving  up  and  the  burning 
before  Him,  on  the  altar  of  a  pure  life,  of  falsehood  and  shame, 
of  injustice  and  selfishness,  of  cruel  deeds  and  words,  of 
impure  thoughts  and  dishonest  life,  of  hatred  and  jealousy, 
of  heedless  pleasure  and  passion-driven  will ;  of  all  that 
made  us  unworthy  of  being  sons  and  daughters  of  the 
Lord  of  Righteouness  and  Love.  These  were  the  Christian 
sacrifices,  this  the  sacrifice  Jesus  offered  to  his  Father. 
It  is  put  closely,  clearly  in  the  text — "  Sacrifice  and  burnt 
offering  for  sin  Thou  didst  not  require  "  ;  for  these  were  the 
demands  the  Pagan  thought  his  gods  made  of  man.  Then 
said  I ;  then  said  Jesus  :  "  Lo,  I  come  to  do  Thy  will,  O 
God ! "  He  took  away  the  first  kind  of  sacrifice,  that  he 
might  establish  the  second. 


88  Atonement. 

It  is  when  we  believe  and  trust  in  such  a  God  that  we 
are  atoned  to  Him.  It  is  because  we  are  saved  through  our 
belief  in  these  truths  which  Jesus  revealed,  and  for  which  he 
died,  that  we  say  we  are  saved  through  him  ;  that  we 
say  we  pray  to  God  through  him.  It  is  not  that  he 
has  saved  us  through  a  vicarious  sacrifice — it  is  that  we 
are  saved  by  means  of  the  revelation  that  he  gave.  It  is 
not  that  Christ,  out  of  his  essential  divinity,  has  saved  us — 
that  is  God's  work  alone ;  it  is  that  through  following  the 
blessed  steps  of  his  most  holy  life  we  find  we  are  redeemed 
from  sin  and  made  at  one  with  God.  It  is  not  because  we 
need  a  Mediator  that  we  pray  to  God  through  him,  it  is 
because  it  is  a  fact  that  he  has  been  the  Mediator— the 
medium  whereby  we  have  learnt  to  know  the  character  of 
God,  and  are  saved  by  that  knowledge.  Yes,  when  God's 
character  is  known  by  us  as  Jesus  knew  it,  we  are  reconciled 
to  God.  We  hate  God  and  fear  Him  no  more.  We  are 
ready  with  joy  to  become  at  one  with  God,  as  Jesus  is  at  one 
with  Him,  and  in  the  same  way.  How  can  we  hate  a  Father 
who  is  fatherly  in  all  the  profound  meaning  of  the  word  ? 
How  can  we  fear  One  who,  if  Jesus  be  true,  is  ready  to 
give  away  His  whole  Being  to  us  in  utter  love,  who  runs  to 
meet  us  when  we  come  to  Him  with  a  joy  which  is  more 
than  we  can  ask  or  think ;  who,  if  He  punishes,  does  so 
by  law  and  not  by  caprice,  and  whose  law  of  punishment 
is  established  for  the  destruction  in  us  of  evil  and  the 
perfecting  in  us  of  good. 

To  believe  that  is  to  be  saved ;  first,  from  our  own 
ignorant  and  ghastly  idea  of  God  which  sets  our  whole 
life  and  thought  and  feeling  wrong ;  and  secondly,  from  our 


A  tenement.  89 

sin,  because  when  we  know  God  as  He  is  and  love  His 
character,  we  become  that  which  we  love.  To  love  God  is 
to  give  up  sin  ;  nay,  more,  it  is  to  win  a  heart  which  cannot 
sin,  so  that  the  statement  of  St.  John,  "  He  cannot  sin 
because  he  is  born  of  God,"  is  not  so  extravagant  as 
it  seems.  This  is  Atonement,  the  reconciliation  of  man 
to  God,  through  the  knowledge  that  Jesus  has  given  us 
of  God. 

2.  But  the  work  done  did  not  end  here.  The  revelation 
made  of  the  Fatherhood  of  God — the  revelation  that  He 
loved  all  men  as  His  sons — the  intense  reality  into  which 
Jesus  threw  that  revelation  by  dying  for  its  truth,  the 
mighty  belief  in  the  love  of  God  which  urged  him  to  love 
men  so  much  that  he  died  to  prove  to  them  that  love  was 
all  in  all,  the  spirit  of  that  death  becoming  the  attractive 
force  of  the  world — the  one  thing  which  it  was  worth  while 
to  follow — all  these  things  and  their  related  actions  entered 
into  men  of  all  nations,  tribes,  and  kindreds  and  bound  them 
together  into  one  whole.  Man  became  reconciled  to  man 
in  the  love  of  God  revealed  in  the  life  and  death  of  Jesus 
Christ. 

Before  the  time  of  Jesus  there  was  no  bond  of  union  be- 
tween different  peoples,  except  that  of  subjection;  nay,  rather, 
different  nations  were  natural  enemies.  After  his  time,  the 
moment  a  man  became  a  Christian,  he  became  in  idea  the 
brother  of  all  other  Christians.  The  Jew  and  the  Gentile, 
the  Roman  and  the  Greek,  the  Gaul  and  the  Briton,  the 
barbarian  Scythian  and  the  philosopher,  the  Athenian  poet 
and  the  Dacian  slave,  the  Roman  matron  and  the  poor 
Syrian  woman — one  and  all,  all  nations,  all  castes,  all  classes 


90  Atonement. 

of  society,  all  classes  of  women  as  well  as  of  men,  were 
united  in  a  common  name,  in  a  common  nation,  in  a 
common  citizenship,  in  a  common  love  to  one  another  and 
to  God,  in  the  man  Christ  Jesus.  It  was  no  fictitious  bond, 
but  one  made  active,  charitable,  real,  in  every  city  and  every 
land  where  went  the  story  and  the  gospel  of  the  Lord.  Of 
course,  the  idea  was  contradicted  again  and  again  in  the 
carrying  out  of  it ;  that  is  the  fate  of  all  great  ideas.  It  was 
most  contradicted  when  the  Church  became  imperialized 
and  changed  into  a  system  of  castes.  But,  nevertheless, 
the  idea  was  working  on  behind  the  false  systems,  and 
it  is  working  now. 

The  little  Church  of  Christ  was  the  first  international 
society,  the  first  republican  brotherhood,  the  first  equality. 
And  all  our  political  struggle  towards  the  conception  of  one 
nation,  the  nation  of  mankind,  in  which  all  citizens  are  free, 
equal,  and  fraternal,  not  only  because  of  their  rights  being 
equal,  but  because  of  the  equality  of  the  duties  which 
men  owe  to  one  another — is  but  the  working  out  in 
society  and  politics  of  this  mighty  atonement  of  nation  to 
nation  which  Jesus  set  on  foot  in  the  realm  of  the  spirit  of 
man,  when  He  bound  the  whole  of  those  who  believed  in 
his  tidings  about  God  into  one  Church,  by  a  common  love 
of  God,  by  a  common  following  of  his  own  spirit,  by  a 
common  belief  that,  since  they  were  sons  of  God,  they  were 
brothers  one  of  another.  That  glorious  work  continues, 
and  as  the  day  will  come  when  all  shall  be  at  one  with 
God,  from  the  least  to  the  greatest,  so  the  day  shall  also 
come  when  men  shall  know  and  love  their  unity. 

That  was  another  part  of  the  work  of  that  which  is  called 


Atonement.  91 

the  Atonement,  but  which  may  more  truly  be  called  the 
Reconciliation  of  Man. 

3.  But  there  was  one  hatred  which  men  had,  and  have 
now,  which  it  seemed  impossible  to  turn  away. 

Hatred  of  suffering  in  ourselves,  in  others  ;  hatred  of  death 
as  the  last  and  bitterest  of  pains.  Pain  by  itself — independ- 
ent of  reasons  why  it  is  to  be  borne — physical,  and  still 
more  mental  pain,  is  the  hateful  thing.  Can  man  ever  be 
reconciled  to  that  ?  There  were  two  things,  however,  before 
the  time  of  Jesus  which  had  made  pain  seem  beautiful.  One 
was  Conscience  ;  the  other  was  Love.  Men  had  for  centuries 
— men,  too,  quite  ignorant  that  what  urged  them  to  die  was 
an  atomic  habit — rejoiced  to  die  for  what  they  thought  right 
and  true,  for  ideas  likely  to  benefit  their  own  people :  and 
they  had  found  in  their  inward  thoughts  of  right  a  strange 
joy  which  enabled  them  to  overcome  or  despise  the  suffering. 
These  were  the  great  souls  of  the  world  ;  but  save  in  war  for 
their  native  land,  it  was  not  supposed  that  many  could  or 
ought  to  do  this.  Suffering  did  not  bring  this  kind  of  joy 
to  all  men. 

But  Christ  declared  by  his  life  and  death — and  it  was 
one  of  those  daring  generalizations  that  lift  him  so  far  above- 
all  other  prophets — that  this  which  had  arisen  here  and 
there  among  men,  was  the  highest  duty  and  law  of  life ;  that 
it  was  to  be  obeyed  and  fulfilled,  not  only  by  the  philosopher 
and  the  hero,  but  by  the  child,  the  woman,  the  common 
citizen,  the  slave,  the  savage.  There  was  not  a  man  or 
woman  who  was  not  capable  of  this,  not  one  who  in  this 
way  of  suffering  for  righteousness,  or  for  the  sake  of  ideas 
useful  to  men,  might  not  have  all  the  noble  calm  of  the 


92  Atonement, 

philosopher,  and  all  the  splendid  joy  of  the  hero.  "  Blessed 
are  they  that  are  persecuted  for  righteousness'  sake,  for 
theirs  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

Jesus  swept  the  particular  motive  into  the  universal. 
Not  for  one's  own  people  only,  not  for  one's  own  class 
alone,  but  for  the  life,  honour,  and  advance  of  all  man- 
kind, even  for  those  who  hated  us  and  put  us  to  death, 
was  this  sacrifice  to  be  made.  It  was  in  this  spirit  that 
the  Christian,  bond  or  free,  endured  torture  and  death  for 
sake  of  conscience  and  truth,  and  finding  in  himself  a 
reconciliation  to  all  the  sufferings  he  bore,  was  the  means  of 
reconciling  other  men  to  suffering.  And  how  wide-spread 
this  reconciliation  of  men  to  suffering  became  is  plainly  laid 
before  us  in  history. 

Once  more ;  men  had,  before  Jesus,  suffered  and  died 
for  love  of  others.  There  is  a  feeling  in  the  heart — which 
they,  at  least,  did  not  know  was  only  an  atomic  dance — and 
which  we  still  call  love,  which  since  the  world  began  has 
made  animals,  and  still  more  men  (for  it  deepens  as  life 
grows  higher  and  more  complex),  not  only  bear  pain,  but 
rejoice  in  it,  if  it  can  save  others  towards  whom  that  feeling 
exists.  But  that  passion  which  illuminated  and  transfigured 
suffering  was  only  felt  by  men  and  women  towards  a  very 
few — the  small  circle  of  home,  or  friends  whom  they 
distinctly  and  personally  loved.  Christ  declared  that  this 
isolated  passion  was  to  be  made  universal.  That  which  the 
mother  feels  for  her  child  when  to  save  it  she  smiles  at  pain; 
that  which  the  lover  feels  towards  his  mistress  when  to  free 
her  from  trouble,  he  gladly  dies ;  that  same  passion  which 
makes  pain  and  death  a  garden  of  delight,  the  veriest 


Atonement.  93 

Paradise  on  earth,  the  height  and  depth  and  burning  centre 
of  ineffable  life  and  joy  ; — Christ  felt  when  he  gave  up  life 
for  love  of  all  mankind,  even  at  the  very  moment  when  he 
also  felt  the  pain  most  deeply.  Nay,  it  was  reached  through 
the  extremity  of  pain. 

To  feel  that  we  are  reconciled  to  suffering  through  love  of 
one  whom  we  know  and  love,  is  noble  :  but  to  extend  that 
to  those  we  know  not,  nay,  to  our  enemies,  because  they  are 
sons  of  God ;  to  have  this  unutterable  passion  for  mankind, 
and,  in  it,  unutterable  joy  in  the  heart  of  suffering  ;  is  the 
ideal  life  which  Christ  said  was  possible  to  all  of  us — and  it 
is  possible.  We  shall  know  what  it  means  at  last,  and 
when  it  is  known,  we  shall  be  wholly  reconciled  to  suffer- 
ing. 

These  things,  then,  which  belong  to  the  law  of  Atone- 
ment, are  not  theological  dreams,  woven  out  of  the  intellect, 
not  parts  of  a  scheme.  They  are  developments  of  human 
powers  natural  to  man,  things  possible  to  his  nature  ; 
growing  out  of  the  common  life  of  man ;  ideals,  but  prac- 
ticable ideals  ;  the  flower,  according  to  law,  of  plants  in  the 
garden  of  human  nature. 

Christ  manifested  these  powers,  showed  that  they  were 
practical  and  possible,  made  us  understand  that  we  could 
also  blossom  into  this  perfection.  And  that  was  another 
way  in  which  he  brought  salvation  to  us,  took  away  our 
sins,  and  justly  earned  the  title  of  Redeemer. 

His  revelation  reconciles  us  to  God,  reconciles  man  to 
man,  reconciles  man  to  suffering. 


94 


[April   15,    1883.] 
A  T  0  N  E  M  E  N  T. 

"  Blessed  are  the  peacemakers  :  for  they  shall  be  called  the  children 
of  God." — MATTHEW  v.  9. 

THE  relation  of  man  to  God,  as  long  as  man  is  unholy, 
is  the  relation  of  a  wrongdoer  to  one  who,  on  re- 
pentance, forgives  the  wrong,  but  whose  forgiveness  is 
not  believed  in.  It  is  a  common  condition  of  things 
between  man  and  man.  We  are  ready  to  forgive,  but 
we  find  that  the  injurer  does  not  forgive  us.  The  man 
that  does  wrong  to  another  is  proverbially  slow  to  believe  in 
love,  and  therefore  in  forgiveness ;  nay,  often  he  is  set  into 
greater  hatred  by  forgiveness,  because  he  thinks  forgiveness 
is  hypocrisy.  This  is  natural  enough.  For  the  injurer,  being 
full  of  hatred  and  anger,  imputes  to  the  injured  his  own 
feelings,  and  realizing  their  ugliness  in  the  other  through 
imagination,  hates  them  in  him,  though  not  in  himself,  and 
feels  himself  wronged  by  their  existence.  Two  results 
follow :  first,  he  cannot  forgive  the  state  of  heart  he 
imagines  in  the  other;  secondly,  he  cannot  believe  in 
forgiveness  at  all. 

It  is  the  same  between  evil  men  and  God,  as  long  as 
there  rankles  in  their  heart  suspicion  of  God's  resentment. 
As  long  as  they  imagine  God  to  be  altogether  such  a 
-one  as  themselves,  there  is  no  reconciliation  possible. 


A  tenement.  95 

They  will  not  forgive  God,  and  they  cannot  receive  God's 
forgiveness.  It  has  no  power.  Till  it  is  believed,  it  cannot 
produce  its  blessed  fruits  in  the  soul.  Hence  the  deep 
necessity  of  that  on  which  all  religious  writers  insist,  the 
necessity  of  faith. 

I  repeat  then,  here,  in  another  form,  that  which  I  have 
already  said.  Two  things  must  take  place  in  our  soul 
before  we  can  feel  ourselves  at  one  with  God,  before 
Atonement  is  an  inward  fact  of  the  spirit.  First,  we 
must  change  our  false  view  of  God  for  a  true  one ;  and, 
secondly,  our  own  character  must  grow  more  into  har- 
mony with  God's  character.  It  was  Christ's  work  to  set 
on  foot  these  two  changes.  He  made  clear  to  us  that 
God  was  not  jealous  of  us  ;  that  He  was  not  vindictive  ; 
that  He  did  not  play  with  our  weakness  ;  and,  therefore, 
that  we  had  no  longer  any  reason  to  hate  Him  or  to 
suspect  Him ;  that  it  was  false  to  impute  to  Him,  as  we 
had  done,  the  baseness  and  selfishness  of  infliction  of 
punishment  for  the  sake  of  His  own  glory.  And  that 
revelation  (when  it  is  seized  by  the  soul  as  a  fact),  frees 
us  from  all  desire  to  contend  against  the  Father.  We 
cannot  be  angry  with  perfect  love  when  we  know  it  as 
Love.  The  first  step  in  our  own  reconciliation  to  God  is 
made  when  our  false  view  of  God  is  replaced  by  the  true 
one. 

The  second  is  the  direct  result  of  the  first.  Believing 
God  to  be  Love,  Redemption,  Fatherhood,  we  must 
become  miserable  when  we  separate  ourselves  from  His 
goodness  by  doing  or  thinking  evil.  The  conviction  of 
eternal  love  melts  the  soul  into  penitence.  And  then 


96  A  tenement. 

the  love  of  Love  awakens,  and  out  of  penitence  we 
rise  with  a  mighty  cry  to  unite  ourselves  to  Love ;  and 
united  to  Him,  we  cannot  do  otherwise  than  repeat  in 
our  lives  the  righteousness  we  adore.  So  our  character 
is  changed,  and  in  that  change  the  certainty  of  our 
union  with  God  is  secured.  It  is  the  second  part  of  our 
reconciliation. 

We  are  then  atoned,  reconciled  to  God  through  Jesus 
in  this  sense,  that  he  gave  us  such  a  revelation  of  God's 
character  that  when  we  believed  in  it  we  could  be  angry 
with  God  no  longer,  but  were,  so  to  speak,  compelled 
to  love  Him  ;  and  that  in  so  loving  perfect  goodness, 
truth,  righteousness,  purity,  and  mercy,  we  grew  like  that 
which  we  loved  ;  and  this  inward  change  of  heart  com- 
pleted our  oneness  with  God. 

And  I  said  that  this  representation  of  the  doctrine  was 
not  apart  from  human  life,  was  in  reality  nothing  strange  or 
new,  but  the  complete  fulfilment  in  Jesus,  and  the  flowering 
in  him  of  those  acts  and  spiritual  powers  by  which  all  men 
who  have  reconciled  man  to  man,  all  who  have  atoned 
together  nations  or  societies,  have  done  their  atoning  work 
from  the  beginning.  It  was  nothing  more  than  the  fulfil- 
ment in  a  complete  life  of  that  law  of  love  and  of 
forgiveness  which  has  prevailed  and  saved  from  the  very 
first — the  finished  manifestation  of  the  principles  by  which 
human  love  has  always  done  redeeming  work. 

I  purpose  to-day  to  show  how  these  principles  apply ;  so 
that  we  may  carry  them  out  in  our  own  lives  and  be  our- 
selves atoners — persons  who  bring  together  those  who  are 
severed  one  from  another  ;  and,  as  far  as  single  individuals 


Atonement.  97 

can  do  such  work,  persons  who  unite  divided  nations  ;  and 
lastly,  persons  who  so  regulate  their  inward  life  that  they 
are  enabled  to  bring  into  atonement  within  themselves 
the  jarring  elements  within  their  heart. 

Jesus,  then,  according  to  the  view  I  have  laid  before  you, 
did  perfectly  for  us  and  for  God  what  loving  and  true  men 
have  always  been  doing  less  perfectly  for  man  and  God 
since  the  beginning  of  the  world.  Whenever  any  man  has 
been  loving,  forgiving,  faithful  to  justice,  he  has  made, 
however  unconsciously,  his  brother  man  feel  that  God 
is  of  the  same  loving  and  faithful  temper.  He  has 
revealed  the  character  of  God,  and  brought  men  to  love 
it ;  and,  in  doing  so,  has  changed  the  character  of  men 
from  evil  to  good.  He  has  wrought  an  atonement. 

It  is  one  of  our  most  benign  and  blessed  works  to  do 
this  work.  We  reconcile  men  to  God,  when  we  show 
forth  God  in  our  lives.  If  we  love  men,  we  make  men 
believe  that  God  is  Love.  They  see  God  in  us,  and 
when  they  realize  Him  through  loving  Him  in  us,  they 
pass  onwards  into  love  of  Him  for  Himself  alone — and, 
loving  Him,  are  changed  into  His  image.  This  is  the 
redeeming,  atoning  work  we  all  may  do,  and  it  represents 
exactly  the  atoning  work  which  Christ  did  in  perfection. 
And  this  is  no  mere  theological  doctrine,  but  the  simple 
declaration  of  facts  which  everyone  can  see  if  but  the 
eye  is  set  to  look  for  them.  It  is  at  once  the  explanation 
and  the  proof  of  all  Atonement,  as  we  have  conceived  it. 

Again,  to  extend  the  parallel,  the  way  of  Jesus  is  the  best 
method  we  can  use,  if  we  wish  to  be  the  peacemaker 
between  two  men  who  are  at  enmity,  one  of  whom  has  done, 


98  Atonement. 

and  the  other  of  whom  has  suffered,  wrong.  First  induce 
the  one  who  has  suffered  wrong  to  forgive  the  other.  You 
will  find  that  the  more  easy  thing  to  do.  Then  you  will 
have  established  a  condition  partly  analogous  to  that 
which  exists  between  God  and  man — forgiveness  on  one 
side,  wrong  on  the  other.  But  there  is  a  difficulty,  and 
it  is,  as  I  have  said,  that  the  doer  of  the  wrong  argues 
from  himself  to  the  character  of  the  injured,  and  imputes 
to  him  his  own  evil  passions.  He  hates  and  suspects  the 
other,  as  Saul  hated  and  suspected  David,  as  many  men 
hate  and  suspect  God. 

What  is  your  work,  then?  It  is  to  go  to  the  wrong 
doer,  and  to  reveal  to  him  the  true  character  and  feelings 
of  the  man  he  has  injured,  his  love  and  his  forgiveness. 
He  may  not  believe  this  at  first,  but  harden  himself  in 
hatred  ;  still,  if  you  persevere  in  your  proof,  he  will  not 
persevere  in  his  suspicion.  And  when  he  yields  at  last, 
his  character  is  changed  by  the  revelation,  and  he  himself, 
becoming  noble  again,  feels  that  he  is  forgiven,  is,  in  fact, 
changed,  and  the  change  is  his  forgiveness.  Then  he  can 
reknit  the  old  friendship  without  untruthfulness  and  without 
shame.  That  is  a  constant  occurrence  in  men's  lives.  Let 
some  kind  expression  of  one  whom  we  thought  an  enemy 
be  told  us,  let  us  find  unexpected  love  in  the  heart  of  a 
brother,  lover,  a  wife  to  whom  we  have  done  wrong — and 
our  heart  warms  again.  Sorrow  awakens,  and  love  resumes 
its  gentle  sway.  The  character  of  the  loving  person  is  told, 
and  the  announcement  of  the  character  changes  the  heart 
of  the  unloving.  The  evil  is  repaired,  and  life  is  again 
happy. 


Atonement.  99 

Alas !  it  is  not  always  possible  to  make  life  happy  again, 
even  though  reconciliation  is  made.  There  are  wrongs  we 
do  which  we  repent  in  vain.  We  are  forgiven  the  wrongs, 
but  we  cannot  undo  them.  The  forgiver  feels  them  less 
because  he  has  forgiven,  but  they  have  done  their  work. 
It  is  a  dreadful  thing  when,  lightly,  only  for  the  sake 
of  getting  vengeance,  we  give  ourselves  up  with  blind 
wrath  to  slander  or  persecution  of  another ;  and  it  is  not 
so  uncommon  in  this  hot-hearted  world  of  ours.  We 
may  then  discover,  all  too  late,  that  one  whom  we  have 
pursued  with  hate,  or  with  the  revenge  of  love,  is  still 
loving  to  us,  still  helping  us  unknown.  Then  the  heart 
is  broken  with  the  late  remorse  of  affection,  and  the  love 
of  our  whole  life  seems  too  little  to  express  our  repentance 
for  the  ruin  we  have  worked  by  our  wrong. 

It  is  often  too  little.  We  repent  our  evil  bitterly,  weave 
with  fruitless  tenderness  a  thousand  flowers  of  kindness 
round  the  life  we  have  destroyed,  wish  to  give  up  the  whole 
world,  nay,  even  to  die,  if  only  we  may  build  up  again  the 
temple  we  have  shattered  so  recklessly.  It  is  of  little 
use.  The  ruin  is  a  ruin  still,  however  we  may  clothe  it 
with  flowers  :  we  never  can  rebuild  it.  Our  work  is  done 
for  this  life.  Only  the  divine  Architect,  and  only  in  a 
happier  world,  can  repair  the  miserable  work  our  passionate 
hands  have  done.  Oh  take  care  !  Watch  against  revenge, 
against  jealousy,  against  hatred.  Once  they  seize  the  heart, 
we  never  can  say  what  their  madness  may  do  to  men  and 
women.  Repentance  saves  the  soul,  forgiveness  heals  half 
the  pain  of  the  forgiver,  but  neither  buy  back  the  past. 

That  is  the  extreme  case,   though  it  is  not  uncommon. 

o  2 


ioo  .Atonement. 

But  often  the  wrong  can  be  repaired,  and  to  help  men  to 
repair  it  in  the  way  \  have  sketched  for  you,  to  look  out  for 
opportunities  for  reconciling  men,  is  to  do  on  earth  some- 
thing of  the  atoning  work  of  Jesus  Christ. 

ii.  But  to  pass  from  this  to  a  larger  part  of  the  subject. 
I  have  said  that  part  of  Christ's  work  was,  first,  by  estab- 
lishing the  love  of  a  common  Father  among  men,  to 
establish  the  idea  of  a  common  Brotherhood,  and  by  these 
two  to  do  away  with  the  enmities  of  nations.  A  spirit 
was  infused  into  the  progress  of  the  world  which  went 
on  reconciling  nation  to  nation.  A  mighty  conception 
went  through  the  world,  like  a  great  prophet,  to  make  an 
international  atonement. 

It  partly  succeeded,  and  partly  failed.  It  has  suc- 
ceeded so  far,  that  Christendom  recognizes,  beneath  all  its 
dissensions,  its  unity  in  the  worship  of  a  common  Father. 
And  this  has  been  one  of  the  great  civilizing  powers  of 
the  world.  But  while  this  first  idea  has  succeeded,  the 
second  has  been  neglected.  The  Apostles  had  scarcely 
died  before  the  notion  of  a  common  brotherhood  decayed. 
Nay,  more ;  men  divorced  the  love  of  mankind  from  the 
love  of  God,  and  wars,  persecutions,  national  and  religious 
hatreds,  proclaimed  that  those  who  worshipped  the  same 
God  did  not  consider  themselves  as  brothers. 

It  may  be  it  was  necessary,  in  the  slow  progress  of  man- 
kind, that  this  idea,  so  far  beyond  the  time  at  which  it  was 
proclaimed,  should  suffer  from  reactions  which  in  the  end 
should  establish  it  more  firmly ;  that  it  should  go  through 
all  its  excesses  and  all  its  defects,  so  that  it  might  be 
more  clearly  grasped  by  men.  But  nothing  is  sadder  than 


Atonement.  101 

the  long  waiting  that  mankind  has  yet  to  go  through, 
before  it  is  convinced  that  the  two  ideas  of  Christ  must 
be  re-married  before  progress  is  easy  and  noble.  It  seems 
even  now  almost  impossible  to  make  men  believe  that 
love  to  man  is  as  important  as  love  to  God ;  nay,  that 
love  to  man — for  this  is  the  true  way  to  put  it — is  identical 
with  love  to  God,  and  that  nations  who  for  the  sake  of 
their  own  honour,  as  they  basely  call  it,  or  for  their  own 
interest,  violate,  by  war  or  by  oppression,  justice  or  freedom 
or  individuality  in  other  nations,  or  support  those  who 
violate  these  things,  are  not  worthy  of  the  name  of  Christ, 
and  live  by  Pagan,  not  by  Christian  thoughts. 

What  we  need  now  is,  that  all  over  the  world  it  should  be 
felt  as  a  first  principle,  that  the  sin  of  sins  (against  God  as 
against  man)  is  to  injure  humanity  in  any  of  its  members ; 
that  a  war,  or  a  law,  or  a  measure  which  imposes  suffering 
upon  a  people  (except  as  the  strictly  just  punishment  of 
crime),  or  limits  their  true  liberty,  or  tramples  under  foot 
their  desire  for  national  individuality,  or  retards  their  advance, 
either  now  or  in  the  future,  is  guilt  of  the  deepest  dye,  is  a 
wrong  done  to  God  who  has  made  Himself  at  one  with  the 
cause  of  man. 

It  is  our  work  as  peacemakers,  as  a  nation  that  follows 
Christ ;  it  is  our  work  as  individual  members  of  the  English 
nation,  to  labour  to  spread  far  and  wide  the  atoning  and 
reconciling  thought  that  true  national  religion  is  this — That 
each  nation  should  work,  not  only  for  its  own  special 
interests,  or  be  jealous  for  its  own  honour  as  duellists  are 
jealous,  but  labour  for  the  interests  of  other  nations  more 
than  for  its  own,  and  be  jealous  for  the  just  rights  of  other 


IO2  Atonement. 

nations  more  than  for  its  own  ;  that  nothing  should  even  be 
done  in  the  present  by  one  nation  for  its  own  interests 
which  might  in  the  future  put  into  jeopardy  the  freedom, 
the  advance,  or  the  individuality  of  another  nation ;  that,  in 
one  word,  all  that  we  call  so  falsely  national  glory,  which 
means  making  our  military  power  to  conquer  respected, 
should  be  subordinated  to  the  true  glory,  which  means 
making  our  power  to  do  and  support  the  right  and  just 
thing  loved  ;  that  all  that  we  call  national  prosperity  and 
pre-eminence  must  be  systematically  subordinated — and  this 
should  be  the  foundation  of  all  foreign  politics — to  the 
interest  of  the  whole  of  mankind.  Till  that  is  done,  our 
Christianity  may  be  personal,  but  it  is  not  national ;  and  till 
it  is  done,  we  shall  never  have  our  rights  in  the  only  way 
worth  having  them  ;  we  shall  never  gain  our  true  interests, 
nor  realize  our  true  honour.  It  is  only  half  Christianity  to 
worship  God  revealed  in  Christ.  We  must  add  to  it  the 
service  of  mankind  in  Christ. 

It  is  in  your  power  to  do  a  great  deal  towards  that  noble 
consummation.  It  is  in  your  power,  year  by  year  (for  year 
by  year  such  questions  rise  in  English  politics),  to  support 
by  voice  and  writing,  in  society,  at  home,  and  in  your 
business,  the  view  which  regulates  our  policy  abroad  on  the 
moral  grounds  of  justice,  of  love  of  freedom,  of  hatred  of 
oppression,  of  hatred  of  grasping  wars  and  grasping  trade, 
and  to  decry  and  abhor  the  selfishness  and  the  petty 
frenzies  which,  under  the  cry  of  England's  honour,  hide  the 
principles  and  the  passions  of  the  duellist  and  the  savage. 

The  desire  to  get  more,  or  the  desire  to  keep  what  we 
have  unjustly  won,  is  the  very  antagonist  of  the  spirit  of 


Atonement.  103 

Christ ;  the  source  of  all  hatred,  and  cruelty,  and  violence ; 
the  source  of  nine-tenths  of  the  wars  and  wickedness  of  the 
world.  It  is  as  evil  in  nations  as  it  is  in  men.  Have  the 
heart,  as  members  of  a  great  nation,  to  live  in  the  spirit  of 
Christ  Jesus.  To  give  away,  to  think  little  of  self,  to  care 
for  the  whole,  to  love  and  to  die  for  the  great  things  of 
justice,  freedom,  love,  pity,  progress — that  is  to  be  the 
maker  of  peace,  one  of  the  great  atoning  band  who  shall 
at  last  see  all  nations  atoned  together,  bound  together  by 
mutual  self-surrender  into  the  mighty  and  glorious  Humanity 
that  Jesus  shall  present  to  God  when  the  harvest  of  the 
world  is  ripe. 

iii.  Nor,  lastly,  is  this  atoning  work  which  the  spirit  that 
follows  the  life  of  Christ  does  in  the  outward  world,  less 
powerful  in  the  inward  world  of  our  own  heart.  There  it 
also  sets  things  at  one,  there  it  reconciles  jarring  elements. 
The  love  which  loses  itself  in  God,  in  duty,  in  man,  in 
nature ;  the  willing  offering  up  of  life  on  the  altar  which  the 
will,  led  by  love  of  God  and  man,  builds  with  fervour  in  the 
heart — this  is  the  atoning  of  inward  discord,  the  recon- 
ciliation, the  peace,  the  power  that  redeems,  that  raises  us 
within  from  death. 

Look  at  the  world  of  our  own  heart !  What  a  universe  ! 
where — as  it  were  in  a  space  infinite  to  thought — we  see  all 
human  history  reproduced.  There  are  as  many  nations  of 
thoughts  within  us  as  there  are  nations  of  passions  and 
powers ;  and  they  abide  in  conditions  similar  to  those  of  the 
nations  of  the  world ;  sometimes  despotically  overthrown 
under  the  tyranny  of  one  passion ;  sometimes  all  the  rest 
ruled  by  the  unholy  alliance  of  a  few ;  sometimes  all  inde- 


1O4  Atonement. 

pendent,  or  all  savage ;  sometimes  in  a  state  of  armed 
neutrality,  often  all  at  war,  or  on  the  point  of  war.  There  is 
no  peace,  no  atonement  in  our  soul.  That  which  we  would, 
we  do  not ;  that  which  we  would  not,  that  we  do.  The 
noble  ideal  struggles  with  the  selfish  pleasure ;  the  religious 
emotion  with  the  scorn  of  the  understanding ;  swift  passion 
with  steady  duty ;  the  present  fear  with  the  future  hope  ; 
the  desire  of  the  good  things  of  the  world  with  truth  to  our 
aspirations ;  the  nobler  with  the  lower  being.  Nay,  more, 
we  often  do  not  know,  in  our  anarchy  within,  whether  we 
are  good  or  bad,  so  strangely  do  the  passions  and  powers 
glide  out  of  noble  into  ignoble  forms.  Love  slips  into  lust, 
justice  into  uncharitableness,  courage  into  boasting  or  reck- 
less display,  modesty  into  fear,  love  of  truth  into  Pharisaism, 
indignation  into  revenge,  faith  into  superstition,  love  of  work 
into  diseased  desire  of  fame,  love  of  rest  into  sloth, 
imagination  into  sensuality,  love  of  clear  thinking  into 
suppression  of  the  instincts  of  the  spirit ;  or  the  very  opposite 
takes  place,  and  these  evil  things  suddenly  become  good 
things.  This  is  anarchy,  the  state  of  savagery  when  every 
village  within  is  ready  at  a  moment  to  go  to  war  with  its 
neighbour  village. 

What  can  make  these  warring  things  at  one  ;  bring  peace 
to  this  little  universe  ;  supply  the  spell  by  which  these  con- 
flicting powers  can  be  harmonized  towards  an  aim  which 
God  would  approve,  and  which  His  love  shall  confirm 
into  a  holy  unity  ? 

Only  one  thing;  to  possess  one  ruling  idea,  beyond  our 
self,  which  all  that  is  within  us  should  obey;  to  love  that 
idea,  and  will  it,  wholly ;  and,  with  that,  to  love  God  who 


Atonement.  105 

gives  the  idea,  and  is  at  its  root,  so  that  in  the  end  we  lose 
ourselves  in  God.  This  idea  is  the  ruling  thought  of 
Christ's  life — I  am  the  son  of  God,  and  God's  will  1  must 
do.  "  My  meat  and  drink  is  to  do  my  Father's  will,  and 
to  finish  His  work.  I  can  do  nothing  of  myself.  The 
works  that  I  do,  I  do  not  of  myself,  the  Father  that 
dwelleth  in  me,  He  doeth  the  works."  God's  will 
recognized  as  righteous,  loved  because  it  is  love  to  man, 
made  the  Lord  and  Master  of  the  heart — that  is  the 
reconciliation  of  the  warring  elements  of  the  human  soul. 

Then  your  whole  being  will  have  the  peace  that  Christ 
had  within,  and  in  the  same  way.  When  one  aim  is 
dominant,  and  one  belief — the  belief  that  you  are  here  to 
do  a  special  work  for  God,  and  not  for  yourself — the  aim, 
one  and  undivided,  to  do  that  work  as  God's  work — then 
these  two  lords  of  your  life  will  set  your  whole  heart  into  the 
peace  of  order.  The  aim,  being  noble,  will  so  ennoble  all 
your  passions  and  powers,  that  they  will  not  slip  into  sin  or 
into  degradation;  the  belief,  being  one  and  divine,  will  order 
all  your  powers  under  it  into  one  phalanx  of  soldiers  for  a 
single  work.  Every  human  faculty,  rejoicing  in  union  each 
with  each,  will  pass  onwards  together  in  a  progress  which 
has  its  close  only  in  the  infinitude  of  God  Himself.  The 
soul  has  peace  in  this  unity — a  peace  that  passeth  under- 
standing. The  spirit  of  Christ's  life  has  made  all  things  at 
one  within. 

There  is  yet  another  thing  to  say.  The  same  spirit,  the 
spirit  which  loses  itself  in  love,  reconciles  us  to  the  sufferings 
of  life,  and  brings  peace  to  the  storms  that  suffering  makes 
within. 


io6  Atonement. 

There  are  some  who  have  suffered  vile  and  grievous 
wrong.  Added  to  the  wrong,  there  is  the  sense  of  the 
injustice  of  God  gnawing  at  the  heart.  So  feels  many  a 
betrayed  woman,  many  a  cheated  man.  There  is  but  one 
way  by  which  such  a  life  may  find  peace.  It  is  the  way  of 
Christ.  It  is  by  a  mighty  effort  to  forgive  the  injurer.  It  is 
to  say  out  of  a  divine  power,  "  Father,  forgive  him  ;  Father, 
forgive  her  ;  they  knew  not  what  they  did."  It  is  strange, 
yet  not  so  strange,  so  god-like  is  our  nature,  what  peace 
that  brings,  how  life  is  softened  and  made  possible  to  live 
again,  and  how,  in  some  inexplicable  way,  the  sense  of 
God's  injustice  passes  out  of  sight,  for  we  are  at  one  with 
God  through  our  forgiveness. 

' '  Oh,  blest  are  they 
Whose  sorrow  rather  is  to  suffer  wrong 
Than  to  do  wrong." 

All  evil  things  that  disturb — the  rough  judgments  of  the 
world,  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time,  the  bitter  poison  of 
self-blame,  the  pain  of  our  desire  for  revenge,  the  pain  of 
the  wrong  itself — cannot  live  in  the  sweet  clear  air  of  the 
life  of  those  who,  in  Christ's  strength  on  Calvary,  pass  at 
last  in  perfect  peace  "  into  that  pure  and  unknown  world  of 
Love,  where  injury  cannot  come."  Nay,  more,  such  a 
heart  is  reconciled  to  pain.  It  feels  the  nobility  it  has 
reached  through  pain  conquered  by  forgiveness.  It  says  to 
itself,  "  It  was  well  that  I  suffered,  for  now  I  am  at  one  with 
God." 

Others  cannot  so  easily  win  content.  They  forgive  men 
and  gain  the  peace  that  comes  through  forgiveness  ;  but  they 


Atonement.  107 

are  restless  still.  Their  nature  is  unpeaceful  as  a  mountain 
stream,  which,  never  to  be  charmed  to  gentleness,  runs 
among  rocks,  and  only  rests  for  moments  in  obscure  pools 
— a  rest  wilder  even  than  its  trouble.  Perhaps,  in  this  life, 
they  never  can  reach  peace  of  heart.  Yes  ;  there  are  some 
— not  the  wicked,  but  those  overwrought  by  phantasy — who 
live  unrested,  and  will  die  unrested,  to  whom  it  seems  as  if 
eternity  itself  could  not  give  rest ;  on  whose  tombs  might  be 
written,  "Without  hope,  I  implore  peace."  There  are  more 
of  such  men  than  we  know.  We  may  not  be  of  that  strange 
and  difficult  temper,  but  in  all  our  lives  there  are  times 
when  this  experience  is  ours;  when  nervous  excitement, 
fierce  pain,  base  injustice,  continued  anxiety,  decaying  love 
that  corrupts  the  life,  the  vulture  claw  and  beak  of  jealousy, 
ingratitude's  sharp  tooth — that  both  of  them  turn  the  heart 
to  carrion,  and  then  rend  and  devour  it — have  made  us  hate 
life  and  death  equally  as  vile,  and  send  forth  from  our  heart 
an  unutterable  cry  for  peace. 

What  then  is  our  help?  How  then  shall  we  reconcile 
ourselves  to  life  ? 

Only  by  throwing  ourselves,  as  Christ  did  when  troubles 
of  this  kind  came  upon  him,  out  of  ourselves  into  love  of 
God,  and  into  love  of  man.  Again  and  again,  when  Jesus 
was  half  broken-hearted  with  the  evil  which  attacked  him, 
he  went  into  the  wilderness  or  to  the  mountain  top  to  pray 
alone,  to  realize  his  union  with  the  Father.  In  the  very 
last  and  bitterest  sorrow,  when  even  his  best  beloved  could 
not  watch  with  him  for  one  hour,  he  sought  in  the  olive 
garden  communion  with  his  Father.  And  there,  in  utter 
loss  of  self,  he  found  the  peace  which  carried  him  through 


Jo8  Atonement. 

a  death   inflicted   by  those  who   hated  him  who  died  for 
them  in  love. 

This  is  one  secret  of  victory  over  suffering — loss  of  self 
in  love  of  God. 

But  that  alone  would  not  have  been  enough  for  Jesus. 
For  such  solitary  communion  tends  to  isolate  us  with 
ourselves.  Jesus,  and  we  with  him,  must  lose  himself 
in  communion  with  God  through  work  of  love  done  to 
mankind.  He  passed  from  his  own  trouble  into  active 
help,  and  forgot  all  pain  in  the  larger  thoughts  of  what  he 
might  do  to  heal  and  succour  pain.  I  think  some  of  us 
might  try  that  way.  Trouble,  anxiety,  discontent  double 
themselves  by  brooding  on  them ;  they  lessen  to  a  shred 
when  we  seek  the  anxious,  the  troubled,  and  the  discon- 
tented, and  lift  them  up,  using  our  pain  to  help  their  pain. 
It  is  by  work  of  this  kind  that  the  vast  conception  of 
mankind  growing  through  sorrow  and  sacrifice  into  union 
with  God  slowly  arises  in  us,  and  dwarfs  in  the  end  all 
our  personal  distress.  We  live  then  in  so  glorious  an 
idea  that  we  feel  our  life  glorious.  We  prize  the  breath 
we  share  with  human  kind,  however  painfully  we  draw  it ; 
and  at  last,  driven  by  pain  to  feel  with  the  pain  of  the 
world,  learn  the  ineffable  joy  of  that  forgetfulness  of  self 
in  sympathy  with  others,  which  was  the  support,  nay,  even 
the  rapture  of  Christ  upon  the  Cross ;  which  (touched 
for  one  moment  with  the  depth  of  agony)  passed  into  that 
majestic  cry  of  peace  and  joy — "  It  is  finished ;  Father, 
into  Thy  hands  I  commend  my  spirit." 

WTe  may,  with  him,  feel  the  very  worst  agony  of  life,  and 
know  we  can  live  no  more.     But  if,  in  the  midst  of  it,  we 


Atonement.  109 

live  in  love,  if  still,  for  all  the  pain,  we  lose  ourselves,  we  shall 
win  the  last  and  crowning  joy  of  death  for  love.  For  God 
does  not  ask  us  to  live  longer  than  we  can.  The  hour  comes 
when  death  our  friend  releases  us — and  then  all  our  long 
repression,  all  the  forces  of  sorrowful  effort,  all  the  noble 
pain,  are  transformed  into  the  expansion  of  the  soul,  into 
powers  of  joy,  into  the  inconceivable  rapidity  with  which 
we  live  and  work  in  the  life  and  labour  of  God. 


IO 


THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER  OF  JOSHUA. 

"  And  Joshua  the  son  of  Nun  was  full  of  the  spirit  of  wisdom  ;  for 
Moses  had  laid  his  hands  upon  him  :  and  the  children  of  Israel 
hearkened  unto  him,  and  did  as  the  Lord  commanded  Moses." — 
I) HUT.  xxxiv.  9. 

THE  education  of  Joshua  is  of  great  interest,  and  full  of 
lessons  to  us.     It  is  a  long,  long  time  before  he  steps  into 
the  first  place.     Moses  is  represented  as  being  eighty  years 
old  before  he  took  the  lead,  and  Joshua  nearly  as  old.    One 
thing  is  quite  plain — even  though  we  are  unable  to  con- 
sider the    history  as  accurate — that  the  ancient    Hebrews 
— and   certainly   the   late   compiler   of   the    Pentateuch — 
thought  a    man   who    had    a    great    work    to    do    should 
undergo  a  long  period  of  training  before  he  entered  upon  it. 
There  is  infinite  care  spent  on  the  forming  and  moulding 
of  the  men  of  genius  who  are  to  form  and  mould  the  first 
rude  clay  of  a  great  people — Greece,  or  Rome,  or  England  ; 
.and  the  Jew  who  put  these  books  together  makes  us  con- 
scious  of  the  anxious  education  given  to  Joshua  through 
the   forty   years   of  the   wandering.        He   held   that   this 
was  the  doing  of  God,  and  it  is  our  view.     God  is  at  the 
root  of   all  great  nations,  chooses  and  educates  specially 
those  who  are  to  represent  the  type  of  the  nation,  and  to  im- 


T/ie  Life  and  Character  of  Jo, 


press  a  character  upon  it.  This  is  what  the  theologians  call 
election — not  the  selection,  as  men  have  said,  of  certain 
to  be  saved  for  the  glory  of  God  and  to  the  ruin  of  the  rest, 
but  the  choice  and  education  of  men  who  are  to  save  others 
for  the  glory  of  mankind,  and,  therefore,  for  the  glory  of 
God,  since  God's  glory  does  not  consist  in  damning  the 
world,  but  in  redeeming  it. 

In  one  sense  we  are  all  elected,  each  to  do  a  certain  part, 
which  no  one  else  could  do,  of  God's  great  work — the 
perfecting  of  the  human  race.  But  the  true  doctrine  of 
election  looks  rather  to  the  choice  by  God,  and  the  making 
by  God,  of  certain  great  and  universal  men,  who,  by  their 
genius,  will  change  the  face  of  the  world,  create  nations, 
inspire  and  influence  all  hearts,  embody  ideas  and  make 
them  run  like  a  fire  through  mankind.  It  is  wonderful  the 
pains  God  takes  with  these  men:  they  are  "chosen  vessels;" 
and  when  they  die,  we  look  back  on  their  lives,  even  after 
a  thousand  years,  and  say,  "  This  is  the  Lord's  doing,  and 
it  is  marvellous  in  our  eyes."  That  is  the  true  doctrine 
of  election. 

Joshua  was  elected  to  finish  the  work  of  Moses.  It  was 
of  the  first  importance  that  the  great  ideas  of  Moses,  rude 
and  primitive  though  they  were,  concerning  God  in  his 
relation  to  the  Israelites,  and  concerning  their  government, 
should  be  clearly  handed  down  and  kept :  that  the  whole 
spirit  of  the  work  Moses  had  done  in  the  wilderness  should 
be  continued  in  Canaan.  And  we  may  be  sure  that  part  of 
the  endeavour  of  Moses'  life  was  to  secure  that  this  should 
be  done.  For  that  end,  he  wrought  Joshua,  and  when  he 
died,  that  work  was  done.  "And  Joshua  the  son  of  Nun 


112  TJie  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua. 

was  full  of  the  spirit  of  wisdom,  for  Moses  had  laid  his 
hands  upon  him." 

It  was  not  done  in  a  hurry,  but  through  forty  years  of 
companionship,  and  therefore  it  lasted.  We  cannot  quickly 
penetrate  a  man  with  our  ideas,  nor  a  nation.  We  are 
disappointed  if  our  thoughts  are  not  at  once  as  clear  to 
others  as  they  are  to  ourselves.  We  are  impatient  if  our 
children,  or  those  we  teach  or  seek  to  influence,  do  not 
accept,  and  do  not  understand  our  ideas  after  we  have 
been  giving  ourselves  away  to  them  for  a  year.  Do  not 
trouble  yourselves  about  that.  If  we  believe  what  we  are 
saying,  and  if  it  be  true,  then,  after  forty  years,  we  shall 
have  made  men  who  will  continue  our  work,  and  they  will 
have  been  worth  the  making.  The  followers  who  are  not 
always  worth  the  making  are  those  who  accept  us  at 
once  ;  who  rush  into  enthusiasm  about  us.  They  receive 
our  seed  on  ground  that  has  no  depth  of  earth,  and 
when  the  sun  of  difficulty  comes,  their  swift  excitement 
withers.  In  time  of  temptation  they  fall  away. 

Moses  made  a  firm,  solid-set  man  out  of  his  follower. 
He  succeeded  because  he  worked  patiently  for  many  years ; 
and  he  did  his  work  quietly.  He  let  Joshua's  union  with 
him  grow  out  of  circumstances.  It  first  arose  out  of 
Joshua's  genius  for  war.  When  the  infant  people  met 
their  first  enemy,  Moses  chose  Joshua  as  the  leader  of  the 
host  in  battle.  It  was  natural  when  the  battle  was  won, 
that  Joshua  and  the  Lawgiver  should  be  much  thrown 
together.  The  thinker  must  have  close  at  hand  his  man  of 
action.  And  we  hear  that  this  close  relation  was  estab- 
lished. Day  by  day,  in  quiet  intercourse,  we  may  imagine 


The  L  ife  and  Character  of  Joshua.  1 1 3 

then  that  Moses  trained  the  man ;  not  seeking  to  train  him 
specially,  but  always  doing  it  indirectly.  And  we  can  well 
fancy  the  reverence  and  love  which  an  unimaginative,  plain, 
unthoughtful,  unmystical,  but  fiery  nature  like  Joshua's 
would  have  for  a  subtle,  many-sided,  spiritual,  imaginative, 
but  fiery  nature  like  that  of  Moses.  For  in  fire,  and  ardour, 
and  courage,  they  were  equal  and  at  one.  By  that  reverence 
and  love,  growing  deeper  year  by  year,  Joshua  won  the 
power  of  understanding  the  ideas  of  Moses,  and  of  rooting 
them  into  his  character.  And  they  were  rooted  there,  and 
Moses  was  glad  of  his  work  when  he  died. 

But  he  was  not  the  man  to  be  glad  to  have  only  a 
reflection  of  himself,  or  his  thoughts ;  else  he  would  have 
chosen  one  who  was  similar  in  nature  to  himself  to  be  his 
follower.  On  the  contrary,  he  chose  a  nature  entirely 
different  from  his  own  ;  a  man  whose  genius  was  a  genius 
for  war,  one  who  would  naturally  represent  his  ideas  in  a 
different  form,  and  in  whom  he  himself  would  see  them 
differently.  That  was  wise,  and  it  proves  that  the  one  thing 
Moses  cared  for  was  not  the  form,  but  the  thought ;  not  the 
temporary  clothing  of  the  thought  which  came  from  himself, 
but  the  Eternal  thought  itself  which  came  from  God.  It 
was  more  than  wise,  it  was  prophetic.  For  the  thoughts 
Moses  gave  the  people  were  to  be  continued  to  them  in 
different  circumstances.  They  had  been  given  in  wander- 
ing and  in  comparative  peace.  They  were  to  be  continued 
first  during  incessant  war,  and  then  in  a  national  settlement. 
He  took  care,  therefore,  that  they  should  belong  to  a 
warrior,  and  be  coloured  and  moulded  in  the  mind  of  a 
warrior.  Nothing  could  be  better  for  their  friendship  than 

H 


114  The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua. 

this  frank  acceptance  of  dissimilarity  and  its  results. 
Unlike  natures,  if  they  love,  are  kept  loving  by  unlikeness. 
Each  admires  and  desires  that  in  the  other  which  he  does 
not  himself  possess.  Respect,  wonder,  and  loving  curiosity 
knit  them  together,  till  at  last  each  gains  and  keeps,  without 
losing  his  own  individuality,  the  good  and  glory  of  the 
other. 

That  was  the  friendship  of  Moses  and  Joshua — the  ground 
of  Joshua's  education  for  his  work.  And  it  is  full  of  lessons 
for  us,  which  I  can  only  indicate.  If  any  one,  child,  work- 
man, or  follower,  serve  or  listen  to  you,  and  you  have  any- 
thing to  give  them,  do  not  neglect  them  because  they  are  of 
a  different  nature  to  yours,  and  care  for  different  things. 
Dissimilarity  of  nature  may  be  the  very  thing  needed  in 
your  follower  in  order  that  he  may  afterwards  carry  on 
your  thoughts  in  dissimilar  circumstances  to  those  that 
now  surround  you.  Do  not  seek  to  be  reflected  by  those 
who  follow  you.  It  is  soothing,  but  it  ruins  a  man.  It 
pleases  his  vanity,  but  as  you  would  not  like  to  have  the 
character  which  enjoyed  posing  before  a  mirror,  so  you 
should  not  like  to  do  the  same  in  matters  pertaining  to 
your  own  thoughts.  Your  work,  always  given  back  to  you 
softened  by  reflection,  will  be  shut  up  in  admiration  of 
itself;  and  then — your  effort,  isolated  from  the  movement  of 
the  thought  of  the  world,  and  from  opposition  which  kindles 
it  into  activity — will  stagnate  and  then  corrupt.  Seek  for 
those  to  carry  on  your  thoughts  who  have  life  in  themselves, 
who  will  add  their  own  thoughts  to  yours,  and  who,  while 
keeping  your  thoughts,  will  bring  them  forth  in  a  new  garb, 
and  in  a  form  more  suitable  for  new  minds  and  new 


The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua.  115 

circumstances.  For  the  one  thing  to  be  cared  for,  and 
to  secure  being  true,  is  the  idea,  and  not  its  clothing.  It 
is  natural  for  us  to  like  the  clothing  we  ourselves  give  to 
an  idea.  But  by  unduly  loving  our  form,  we  are  in 
danger  of  being  so  dazzled  by  it  as  to  forget  the  truth  which 
underlies  the  form,  and  finally  to  believe  only  in  the  form. 
Do  not  be  betrayed  through  vanity,  or  through  the  applause 
of  men  into  that  deadly  error.  Desire,  on  the  contrary,  that 
the  idea  should  have  new  clothes  for  every  change  of  circum- 
\stances,  for  every  change  of  the  world's  thoughts  around 
it.  Then,  it  will  do  good.  But  keep  the  old  clothes  upon 
it,  and  it  becomes  useless,  and  is  thrown  by  on  the  dust-heap 
of  worn  out  things,  until  some  one  comes  by,  finds  it,  strips 
it  of  the  rotten  garments,  sees  that  it  is  a  beautiful  thing,  and 
re-clothes  it !  Would  you  save  your  thought  from  that  fate? 
Be  like  Moses,  then,  who  provided  that  a  different  form 
should  be  given  to  his  thoughts  in  Joshua ;  like  Christ,  who 
gave  His  ideas  to  twelve  men,  all  different  in  type,  that 
there  might  be  diversities  of  gifts,  but  the  same  spirit, 
differences  of  administration,  but  the  same  Lord  working 
all  and  in  all. 

So  far,  then,  for  the  starting  of  the  friendship  between 
Moses  and  Joshua.  How  does  Joshua  first  appear  before  us  ? 
It  is  as  the  warrior,  and  he  keeps  that  apparition  till  near  the 
end  of  the  story.  And  no  figure  can  well  be  finer.  He 
is  the  great  soldier,  so  full  of  the  spirit  of  war,  that  it  is 
the  first  thing  he  thinks  of  always,  as  when  descending  the 
mountain  he  cries,  on  hearing  the  shouting  and  singing, 
"  There  is  a  noise  of  war  in  the  camp  " — the  dominant 
thought  claiming  all  things  as  its  own  —  j  the  natural 

H  2 


Ii6  The  Life  and  CJiaracter  of  JosJnia. 

chieftain,  whose  mighty  war-cry  always  stirred,  and  may 
have  first  given  birth  to,  that  peculiar  and  terror-striking 
shout  with  which  Israel  rushed  to  battle.  We  think  of 
Achilles  shouting  from  the  trench  as  we  think  of  Joshua. 
And  the  two  great  battle  images  we  have  of  him  recall  the 
spirit  of  the  Greek  hero.  We  see  him  by  the  side  of 
the  gorge  of  Ai,  when  he  had  lured  the  warriors  of  the 
city  forth,  on  a  rock  beside  the  path,  stretching  forth  his 
spear  towards  the  city,  shouting  to  the  ambush  until  it 
rose,  and  then  turning  like  a  lion  on  the  foe  he  had  tricked, 
surrounded,  and  now  descended  to  destroy.  He  is  seen 
again,  in  the  same  picturesque  isolation,  standing  on  the 
heights  above  Bethhoron,  spear  in  hand,  against  the  space 
of  broken  light,  calling  on  the  sun  to  halt,  and  the  moon 
to  stay  :  at  his  feet  the  stony  valley,  filled  with  the  rout  of 
the  kings  of  the  Canaanites  and  the  pursuing  Israelites, 
and  over  them  and  in  the  sky,  the  dark  onset  of  the  fierce 
clouds  that  poured  hail  and  lightning  forth  until  the  people 
were  avenged  of  their  enemies.  It  is  a  splendid  image  of 
wild  war ;  and  he  is  its  centre  and  its  inspiration. 

The  career,  of  which  that  battle  was  the  crown,  began 
almost  immediately  after  the  Exodus,  more  than  forty  years 
before,  in  the  fight  with  Amalek.  Moses  sent  him  forth  ; 
he  returned  in  triumph,  and  then  began  his  training.  It  was 
an  hour  of  great  danger  for  his  future  work,  for  no  one  can 
help  seeing  that  his  temptation  would  be  to  feel  that  which 
every  Israelite  was  first  taught  not  to  feel — that  it  was  his 
own  arm  that  had  won  the  fight,  and  his  own  genius  that  had 
secured  it.  It  is  not  without  reason,  then,  that  the  story 
makes  Moses  take  him  up  afterwards  with  him  into  the 


The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua.  117 

sacred  mountain,  into  the  awful  presence  of  God's  power, 
and  while  he  went  himself  into  the  central  darkness,  left 
Joshua  upon  the  outskirts  alone,  in  those  dread  solitudes. 
That  was  enough  to  take  out  of  a  man  the  sense  of  his  own 
greatness.  What  solemn  thoughts  then  were  his,  what 
inspiration  of  his  own  nothingness,  and  of  God's  fulness, 
what  overwhelming  awe,  we  may  conjecture,  but  need  not 
tell.  We,  who  have  been  alone  on  the  mountains,  or  on  the 
sea,  when  a  mighty  storm  was  raging,  and  there  was  within 
us  also  a  deep  conviction  of  God,  may,  perhaps,  conceive 
how  deep  was  the  lesson  of  humility  learnt  by  Joshua  during 
the  many  days  upon  the  mountain  !  It  was  learnt  for  life, 
at  least.  There  is  not  one  touch  from  beginning  to  end  of 
his  course,  of  any  self-exaltation  to  the  exclusion  of  God. 
No  man  could  more  undividedly  carry  out  the  idea  that  all 
Israel's  victories  and  success  were  due  to  God  alone. 

But  humble  as  he  was  made  before  God,  he  might  have 
been  tempted  by  his  first  success  to  set  himself  forth  as  leader 
instead  of  Moses.  There  was  cabal  enough  against  Moses 
had  Joshua  been  inclined  to  join  it ;  and  right  glad  would 
the  rebels  have  been  of  his  help.  But  had  he  been  capable 
of  that,  he  would  not  have  been  capable  of  governing.  The 
next  step  in  his  training  was  to  learn  how  to  obey  with  love 
and  reverence.  Therefore,  after  he  had  been  solemnized 
upon  the  mountain,  he  became  the  "servant,"  the  daily 
attendant  of  Moses.  He  lived  with  him  in  the  tabernacle, 
doing  his  work,  running  to  and  fro  in  attendance,  learning 
the  duties  which  should  belong  to  him  as  leader  by  being 
the  right  hand  of  the  leader ;  the  greatest  warrior  of  the  camp 
in  daily  obedience  to  the  lawgiver  of  the  camp.  And  we 


Ii8  The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua. 

see  why  he  did  this — not  because  it  was  useful  to  him,  or 
gave  him  a  name,  but  because  he  needed,  out  of  his  strong 
and  simple  heart,  to  express  his  love  and  his  veneration  in 
delighted  service.  That  is  the  very  best  thing  which  can 
possibly  happen  to  a  man  who  has  in  after-life  to  do 
similar  work  to  that  which  Joshua  had  to  do — to  manage 
others  and  to  govern  them.  It  teaches  him  how  to  rule  ; 
it  teaches  him  the  things  which  must  be  done,  if  rule  is 
to  be  supported  ;  and  how  to  do  them,  and  to  get  them 
done.  It  teaches  him  that  the  truest  service  is  that  done 
through  love  and  reverence.  It  teaches  him  that  the  ruler's 
life  must  be  such  as  to  win  love  and  reverence — that  these 
are  the  roots  of  power.  It  was  a  lesson  thoroughly  learnt 
by  Joshua. 

Indeed,  it  seems  as  if  this  kind  of  work  on  Joshua,  this 
teaching  of  him  to  be  the  obedient,  the  humble  servant, 
instead  of  the  chief  warrior,  went  still  further.  It  looks  as 
if  he  were  taken  away  from  being  the  war  leader  for  a  time. 
We  do  not  find  him  as  captain  in  the  wars  with  Sihon,  King 
of  Heshbon,  or  Og  of  Bashan.  Phinehas  and  others  take 
the  command  in  these,  and  Joshua  is  left  with  Moses,  to  all 
appearance,  quietly  in  the  camp.  That  is  curious,  but  it 
was  wise  and  good  for  him — for  he  was  not  to  be  the  warrior 
only.  There  would  fall  to  his  work  afterwards  the  allotment 
of  land  to  the  tribes  ;  the  organization  of  the  new  settlement ; 
the  founding  of  a  government  along  with  the  priesthood.  To 
stay  with  Moses,  then,  and  to  learn  that  which  did  not  belong 
to  his  special  genius ;  to  drink  in  something  of  the  law- 
giver's spirit ;  to  make  friends  with  men  like  Eleazar,  who 
governed  the  religious  body,  and  who  would  be  his  confi- 


The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua.  119 

dant  and  adviser — these  were  things  he  could  not  do  after- 
wards, in  the  midst  of  the  wars  of  Canaan,  and  it  was  all 
important  to  learn  them  now.  Therefore,  he  may  have  been 
led  to  lay  aside  for  a  time  his  special  type  of  work  and  to 
do  things  necessary  for  the  future  settlement  he  had  to 
organize  in  Canaan. 

Again,  had  he  alone  led  the  host  he  might  have  thought 
too  little  of  the  ability  of  others  to  do  his  work,  or  been 
jealous  of  any  one  sharing  in  it  or  coming  near  his  glory. 
He  was  kept,  therefore,  in  the  background  for  a  time,  till  he 
learned  that  there  were  plenty  of  men  in  the  host  quite  fit 
to  lead  the  children  of  Israel  to  victory.  It  was  an  excellent 
lesson.  He  knew  thus  the  stuff  of  the  men  he  had  to 
command  ;  he  knew  whom  he  could  trust ;  he  lost  all  envy 
and  jealousy  of  the  fame  of  others ;  he  was  ready  to  give 
every  man  under  his  command  his  due,  to  hold  himself  only 
as  one  among  many  heroes.  The  little  story  in  the  eleventh 
chapter  of  Numbers  shows  how  much  he  needed  this.  He 
was  angry  because  two  men  who  had  not  been  appointed  by 
Moses  prophesied  in  the  camp.  It  was  the  very  spirit  of 
the  martinet,  and,  if  it  had  not  been  checked,  would  have 
been  the  jealous  and  envious  spirit  in  the  commander  of  an 
army  ;  and  both  would  have  been  fatal  in  Canaan  to  his 
influence  and  success  among  the  hot  tempered  princes  of 
Israel  arid  the  fierce  people.  As  it  was,  whatever  be  the 
reason,  Joshua  had  got  rid  of  all  this  weak,  jealous,  and 
martinet  temper  when  we  find  him  in  Canaan.  Net  one  of 
the  complaints,  not  one  of  the  cabals,  such  as  were  made 
against  Moses,  were  made  against  him.  That  which  Moses 
said  to  him  when  he  carried  his  jealous  tale  about  the  un- 


I2O  The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua. 

authorized  prophets — "  Enviest  thou  for  my  sake,  would 
God  all  the  Lord's  people  were  prophets  " — Joshua  would 
have  said  to  any  one  who  reported  to  him  an  unauthorized 
deed  of  war  by  one  of  his  companions  as  dangerous  to  his 
supremacy — "  Enviest  thou  for  my  sake,  would  God  all  the 
Lord's  people  were  chieftains  in  war."  To  reach  that  noble 
temper  was  worth  his  long  retreat. 

Of  course,  it  holds  its  lesson  for  us.  It  is  not  to  shut 
ourselves  away  from  all  pursuits  or  objects  save  those  for 
which  we  have  a  special  genius;  it  is  to  retire  sometimes 
from  that  we  do,  or  think  we  do,  in  a  splendid  way  and 
in  which  we  get  fame,  in  order  to  learn  the  other  side  of 
things  ;  to  balance  and  complete  our  powers ;  and  to  do 
that,  not  with  the  self-conscious  object  of  making  ourself 
a  greater  personality,  but  because  we  have  met  some  one 
like  Moses  whose  qualities  we  think  higher  than  our  own, 
and  whom  we  admire  with  all  our  heart.  The  giving  up 
for  a  time  of  work  for  which  we  have  a  genius,  if  we  have 
this  motive,  will  do  wonders  for  our  character ;  will  check 
the  evils  and  balance  the  good  of  our  genius ;  will  enable 
us  to  see  how  well  others  do  that  which  we  think 
we  do  so  splendidly ;  and  when  we  get  back  to  our 
toil  will  help  us  to  use  the  powers  of  others  in  the 
best  way  possible,  without  their  opposition  or  their 
jealousy,  because  we  are  free  from  jealousy.  It  will 
delight  us  then  to  find  merit ;  for  we  care,  not  for  our 
own  fame  in  the  thing  for  which  we  have  genius,  but  for 
the  beauty  of  the  thing  itself.  Self  has  been  wrought  out  of 
us.  "  Would  God,"  we  say,  "  that  all  men  .were  musicians, 
or  poets,  or  great  lawgivers."  Why?  Because  it  is  music 


The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua.  12 1 

and  poetry  and  great  thinking  that  we  care  for,  and  their 
beauty — not  for  our  own  fame  in  these  matters.  And  that, 
believe  me,  is  the  great,  the  noble,  and  the  beautiful  temper. 
Worldliness,  littleness,  and  conceit  cannot  breathe  in  its 
atmosphere.  It  is  simple  and  passionate,  and  modest  and 
heroic.  Many  English  war  chiefs  have  had  it,  and  many 
men  of  genius ;  and  in  the  Bible  Joshua  is  its  type. 

But  though  he  was  thus  removed  from  chieftainship,  he 
knew  now  his  destiny.  For  now  comes  the  central  point  of 
his  life  in  the  wilderness  on  this  side  of  Canaan.  He  was 
sent  out  with  eleven  others  to  view  the  land,  and  had  not 
the  craven  spirit  of  the  enslaved  Israelites  intervened,  he 
would  have  entered  it  then  as  the  war  leader.  For  with 
the  sending  of  him  into  Palestine  was  linked  his  future 
work  as  conqueror  of  the  land.  Moses  drew  him  apart 
from  the  rest  and  changed  his  name  from  Oshea,  the 
Saviour,  to  Jehoshea,  God  the  Saviour.  The  new  name 
enshrined  his  destiny ;  it  dedicated  him  to  his  work  as 
captain  of  the  Lord's  host,  as  the  winner  of  the  land. 
It  was  a  kind  of  baptism  ;  a  solemn  consecration.  Hence- 
forth he  knew  what  he  was  to  do.  A  mighty,  ruling  idea 
was  added  to  his  life,  and,  as  events  fell  out,  it  guided, 
inspired,  and  developed  him  for  many  years  before  he 
could  put  it  into  action.  It  was  a  wonderful  thing  to 
have  this  new  tenant  in  his  heart,  and  the  change  of  name 
was  but  a  faint  symbol  of  the  marvellous  change  the 
thought  must  have  wrought  in  his  whole  character. 
Imagine  the  life,  the  prophecy,  the  ardour  it  must  have, 
by  its  very  presence,  given  to  all  act  and  thinking,  to 
every  quality  of  his  character.  It  was  like  the  outbreaking 


122  The  Life  and  Character  of  JosJnia. 

of  a  springhead  of  waters  in  a  commonplace  land;  and 
it  is  delightful  to  picture  to  oneself  the  new  and  passionate 
thoughts  and  feelings  the  warrior  must  have  had  as  he  went 
along,  day  after  day,  with  the  rest,  through  the  vineyards 
and  fields,  and  by  the  villages  of  the  land  where  his  fathers 
had  been,  and  which  he  was  chosen  by  God  to  conquer  for 
his  brethren.  Those  were  days  one  would  give  years  of  life 
to  share  in  and  remember. 

Full  of  enthusiasm,  he  came  back,  one  faithful  companion 
with  him  taking  part  in  his  excitement  and  courage.  And 
now,  at  the  very  height  of  his  eagerness,  all  his  dream  was 
broken  and  despised.  When  the  people  heard  the  report 
of  the  spies,  they  were  terror-stricken,  and  one  of  those 
base  outbreaks  took  place  which  are  prompted  by  fear. 
Would  to  God,  they  said,  we  had  died  in  Egypt,  or  in  the 
wilderness — better  to  return  to  Egypt  than  to  fall  by  the 
sword  of  the  Anakim.  Let  us  make  a  captain  and  get 
back  to  Egypt.  This  was  Joshua's  first  trial,  and  it  was 
a  sharp  one.  In  the  bitterness  of  his  disappointment,  in 
the  chilling  of  his  hopes,  he  might  easily  have  been 
tempted  to  go  with  the  majority,  or  to  give  way  to  their 
dread,  or  to  oppose  himself  to  Moses,  or  to  be  untrue  to  the 
great  object  of  his  life — the  winning  of  Canaan.  How 
easy  to  say — "  I  will  be  your  captain  and  take  you  back 
to  Egypt."  How  did  he  come  out  of  it?  For  in  these 
times  when  a  man  is  tested,  we  see  the  real  stuff  of  which  he 
is  made.  "  And  they  said  " — that  is,  Caleb  and  Joshua — 
"the  land  which  we  passed  through  to  search  it,  is  an 
exceeding  good  land.  If  the  Lord  delight  in  us,  then  He 
will  bring  us  into  this  land  and  give  it  to  us,  a  land  which 


The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua.  123 

floweth  with  milk  and  honey.  Only  rebel  not  ye  against  the 
Lord."  See  what  vigorous  religion,  what  practical  faith 
in  God  there  is  in  these  men  !  And  now  listen  to  the 
ring  of  courage  full  of  faith  in  their  words :  "  Neither  fear 
ye  the  people  of  the  land,  for  they  are  bread  for  us  ;  their 
defence  is  departed  from  them,  and  the  Lord  is  with  us  ; 
fear  them  not  !  "  How  was  this  brave  cry  answered  ? 
"All  the  congregation  bade  stone  them  with  stones!"  It 
was  a  sorrowful  experience  for  Joshua.  He  had  quietly  to 
put  by  his  ardour,  and  his  splendid  destiny,  for  many  years. 
But  he  took  two  things  with  him,  the  two  things  we  find  in 
his  speech — great  courage,  that  cheerful  courage  which  is  so 
animating ;  and  great  faith  in  God. 

I  close  by  trying  to  make  this  story  real  to  our  lives.  If 
we  are  to  do  anything  in  life,  the  time  comes  sooner  or  later, 
when,  after  much  beating  to  and  fro,  we  find  it  out  and 
know  it.  It  came  to  Joshua  when  Moses  re-named  him,  and 
gave  him  his  life  work.  It  came  to  David  when  Samuel 
anointed  him  King  over  Israel,  and  he  was  yet  a  boy.  It 
came  to  Christ  when  he  went  up  to  the  baptism  of  John, 
and  was  driven  into  the  wilderness  to  realize  the  idea  of  his 
mission  and  all  its  temptations.  It  came  to  Wordsworth, 
and  is  recorded  by  him — to  take  an  instance  from  our  own 
times — on  that  dewy  morning  among  the  hills  when  he  was 
filled  with  God,  and  felt  he  was  a  dedicated  spirit.  It 
comes  to  all  of  us  the  day  we  feel — "  Here  is  my  work,  I 
will  do  it  and  love  it,  God  helping  me."  It  is  a  solemn 
time,  our  name  is  as  it  were  changed,  we  are  re-baptized, 
consecrated  by  God  and  by  our  own  will. 

Some  among  you  may  be  at  that  moment  now.     Then 


124  The  Life  and  Character  of  JosJnia. 

count  the  cost,  lest  having  begun  you  be  not  able  to  finish  ! 
See  what  lies  before  you  ;  search  out  the  land  you  are  going 
to  conquer ;  go  through  it  step  by  step,  finding  out  its 
giants  and  where  they  live,  its  strong  places  of  difficulty  and 
of  evil,  and  all  that  you  have  to  overcome  !  And  may  the 
courage  and  faith  you  have  be  such,  that  you  may  say — 
"All  this  is  bread  for  me,  the  defence  of  these  things  is 
gone.  If  the  Lord  delight  in  me,  and  I  be  faithful,  I  shall 
accomplish  my  endeavour." 

Some  among  you  may  have  already  begun,  or  may  be 
well  on  in  the  work  to  which  you  gave  yourself.  How  have 
you  done  it?  Well  or  slothfully?  Bravely  or  fearfully? 
Having  seen  the  cities  of  pleasure  walled  up  to  heaven,  the 
giants  of  wrong,  the  difficulties  of  the  world,  have  you  then 
come  back  and  cried — "  Too  hard,  would  God  I  had  died. 
Let  me  get  back  to  Egypt,  to  my  slavish  comforts,  and  my 
flesh  pots  !  "  Then  remember  this  old  history.  You  will 
not  get  back  to  Egypt,  you  will  wander,  and  it  may  be  die, 
in  the  wilderness  of  a  wasted  life. 

Or  is  it  another  thing  that  has  happened.  In  the  very 
midst  of  conquest,  has  some  terrible  foe  stepped  in,  tempta- 
tion of  pleasure,  of  evil  fame,  of  self-desire,  and  led  you  to 
give  up  or  to  be  false  to  the  idea  of  your  work  ?  As  you 
look  back,  do  you  know  you  have  been  untrue  to  the  ancient 
inspiration,  that  it  has  not  been  kept  pure,  that  it  is 
trembling  on  the  verge  of  loss ;  merciful  God,  that  it  is 
lost,  and  that  you  and  your  work  are  ruining  down  the 
precipice ! 

It  may  not  be  yet.  Recall  the  days  when  you  were 
baptized  into  it,  when  the  dew  of  its  inspiration  made  your 


The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua.  125 

soul  like  a  summer  garden  in  the  dawn,  when  ardour  filled 
you  and  made  your  life  like  Paradise,  wrhen  God's  hand  was 
on  your  shoulder  and  you  heard  His  very  voice — "  This  is  the 
way,  walk  ye  in  it."  Or  rather  recall  but  little,  or  only 
recall  enough  to  gain  impulse  to  go  forward.  Think  of  our 
Joshua,  Jesus  the  great  Master.  Rise  from  the  dead  writh 
him,  and  follow  him  into  a  new  life,  with  faith  in  the 
redeeming  of  wrong  by  doing  right ;  with  faith  in  God  as 
your  Friend — and  with  the  courage  of  Joshua,  begin  once 
more.  Be  strong  and  very  courageous,  and  all  the  Anakim 
of  evil,  and  even  your  own  evil,  will  fall  down  before  the 
faith  which  labours  and  the  courage  that  believes. 


126 


THE  LIFE  AND   CHARACTER   OF  JOSHUA. 

"Moses  My  servant  is  dead;  now  therefore  arise,  go  over  this 
Jordan,  thou,  and  all  this  people,  unto  the  land  which  I  do  give  to 
them,  even  to  the  children  of  Israel. 

"Every  place  that  the  sole  of  your  foot  shall  tread  upon,  that  have 
I  given  unto  you,  as  I  said  unto  Moses. 

"  From  the  wilderness  and  this  Lebanon  even  unto  the  great  river, 
the  river  Euphrates,  all  the  land  of  the  Hittites,  and  unto  the  great  sea 
toward  the  going  down  of  the  sun,  shall  be  your  coast. 

"There  shall  not  any  man  be  able  to  stand  before  thee  all  the  days 
of  thy  life  :  as  I  was  with  Moses,  so  I  will  be  with  thee  :  I  will  not  fail 
thee,  nor  forsake  thee. 

"  Be  strong  and  of  a  good  courage  :  for  unto  this  people  shall  thou 
divide  for  an  inheritance  the  land,  which  I  sware  unto  their  fathers  to 
give  them." — JOSHUA  i.  2—6. 

THE  mourning  for  Moses  was  over,  and  Joshua  was  left 
alone ;  looking  his  work  in  the  face — a  grave  and  solemn 
hour.  And  the  thoughts  of  his  soul  were  the  ground  of  the 
vision  that  he  saw,  when  Jehovah  spake  to  him  and  said — 
"  Moses  My  servant  is  dead,  therefore  arise,  go  over  this 
Jordan,  thou,  and  all  this  people,  unto  the  land  which  I 
have  given  them.  Be  strong  and  of  a  good  courage.  I 
will  not  fail  thee,  nor  forsake  thee."  We  see  in  that  the 
first  great  thought  of  Joshua's  mind.  And  the  second  is, 
that  in  the  conquered  land,  and  in  the  conquering  of  it, 
the  law  given  by  Moses,  and  its  ideas — the  unity  of  God, 
the  overthrow  of  idolatry,  the  unity  of  the  people  in  one 


The  Life  and  Character  of  JosJiua.  127 

God,  the  bold  moral  outlines  of  the  Decalogue,  should 
be  rigidly  preserved  and  sternly  insisted  on.  These  were 
the  grounds  of  his  life,  these  the  things  he  went  over 
Jordan  to  do ;  and  their  clearness,  and  the  strength  of 
them,  wrought  as  they  were  in  him  by  a  long  education, 
gave  to  his  life  and  work  their  absolute  force  and  lucidity. 
If  you  want  to  do  good  work,  and  with  overcoming  energy, 
get  your  thoughts  clear,  let  their  outlines  be  as  sharp  as 
those  of  mountains  against  the  sky. 

In  this  manner,  then,  the  thoughts  of  the  man  appear 
in  his  vision.  In  it  also  appears  his  character.  In  another 
vision  said  to  have  been  seen  by  him,  the  Lord  stands 
at  his  right  hand  with  a  drawn  sword.  The  apparition 
is  such  as  a  warrior  would  see  in  dream.  To  Moses  the 
vision  of  God  comes  as  the  light  that  no  man  can  approach 
unto,  as  the  palpable  darkness,  as  the  invisible  voice  that 
proclaims  character — such  visions  as  belong  to  the  prophet 
and  the  law-giver — but  God  comes  to  Joshua  as  the  Captain 
of  the  Host  of  the  Lord.  Out  of  Joshua's  character  came 
his  vision,  and  out  of  our  character  grows  the  symbol 
of  our  God !  As  you  are,  as  your  nation  is,  so  will  be 
the  form  of  your  God,  and  your  nation's  God ;  and 
as  the  form  is  so  will  the  worship  be — pure  or  base, 
spiritual  or  idolatrous.  Were  you  to  see  the  vision  of  your 
God,  how  would  he  appear  to  you?  How  should  we 
represent  him  now  ?  How  would  the  hand  of  England 
paint  him,  were  we  to  collect  the  vision  of  the  ma- 
jority ?  In  our  peace,  would  he  seem  to  us  as  just  and 
pure,  as  ideal  as  he  seemed  to  Moses  ?  In  our  wars, 
should  we  see  him  standing  in  our  front  with  his  sword 


128  The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua. 

drawn  in  his  hand,  the  Captain  of  our  Host?  Take  our 
national  character  now,  our  aims,  our  lives,  our  doings  with 
money,  with  books,  with  trade,  with  one  another,  our  objects 
in  politics  within  and  without — and  build  up  out  of  them 
the  image  of  our  God.  Should  we  dare  to  realize  it,  dare  to 
set  it  up  in  the  exchanges,  dare  to  paint  it  on  canvas,  dare 
to  proclaim — "  Hear,  O  England,  this  is  the  symbol  of  your 
God,  this  the  thing  you  worship  ! "  Is  that  too  difficult  to 
answer?  Then  build  out  of  your  own  imagination  the 
image  of  your  God,  see  if  you  dare  to  realize  that  which  is 
at  the  root  of  the  worship  of  your  life.  The  effort,  at  least, 
will  teach  you  more  than  all  the  preachers  can  tell  you. 

The  image  Moses  and  Joshua  had  of  God  was  different  for 
both  ;  but  the  difference  makes  no  matter  if  the  symbol  be 
noble,  formed  out  of  a  noble  thought.  For  then  the  love 
and  reverence — the  worship  in  one  word — is  the  same.  It 
does  not  matter  in  what  form  we  worship,  provided  that 
we  worship  God,  and  not  a  devil.  It  does  not  matter 
whether  we  build  up  our  thought  of  Him  as  Conservative  or 
Liberal,  Churchman  or  Dissenter,  provided  our  symbol  of 
Him  is  noble  enough  to  draw  forth  the  deepest  awe  of 
conscience,  and  the  deepest  love  of  the  spirit.  That  is  the 
point.  Moses  saw  Him  as  the  uncreated  Light  and  Truth, 
Joshua  as  the  Captain  of  the  Host :  but  both  worshipped  Him 
with  ennobling  love  and  awe. 

With  these  thoughts  of  God  in  his  soul,  Joshua  went  forth 
to  the  conquest  of  Canaan. 

How  he  had  won  the  country,  and  of  what  kind  his 
character,  as  warrior  now  and  governor,  was  in  itself,  and 
what  it  was  to  others,  is  the  most  convenient  division  I 
can  make  of  what  I  have  to  say. 


The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua.          129 

i.  In  itself.  The  first  point  is  the  power  of  Faith  in  the 
man ;  faith  in  God,  faith  in  the  work  he  had  to  do,  and, 
therefore,  faith  in  himself.  It  is  faith  which  gives  power  in 
life  when  the  faith  is  worth  the  name — that  is,  when  it  is 
belief  in  realities  and  not  in  lies ;  when  it  is  faith  in 
pure,  beautiful  and  righteous  things  and  persons.  If  we 
have  such  faith,  all  things  are  possible,  we  shall  be  able  to 
remove  mountains.  By  it,  Joshua  subdued  Canaan ; 
established  the  nation  of  Israel ;  realized  that  which  seemed 
impossible  ;  and  died,  having  attained  his  end.  It  is  equally 
powerful  against  our  spiritual  foes,  against  the  evil  in  us. 
The  man  who  can  truly  say — "  I  believe  in  God  the  Father 
Almighty,"  is  master  of  the  world  and  of  himself.  The 
man  who  can  truly  say — "  I  believe  in  the  forgiveness  of 
sins,"  is  already — not  in  fact,  but  in  certainty  of  future 
righteousness — freed  from  sin.  There  is  nothing  evil  in  him 
which  will  not  be  finally  overthrown. 

On  such  a  faith  naturally  follows  the  next  quality  in 
Joshua's  character — the  quality  of  Courage.  Christ  puts  the 
connection  between  these  two  things  with  great  clearness — 
"  Why  are  ye  so  fearful,  oh  ye  of  little  faith  ?  "  Faith  is 
always  the  best  ground  of  courage ;  faith  in  oneself — the 
ground  of  physical  courage ;  faith  in  the  Tightness  of  one's 
cause,  or  the  Tightness  of  one's  thoughts  on  any  subject — 
the  ground  of  moral  courage  ;  faith  in  God  and  God's 
character — the  ground  of  spiritual  courage ;  and  when  the 
whole  three  kinds  of  faith  are  wrought  together,  like  three 
threads  of  iron  in  a  sword,  we  have  a  character  like  Joshua's, 
strong  and  very  courageous  ;  mighty  in  battle,  mighty  in 
organization,  mighty  in  making  God's  ways  prevail.  And 


130  The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua. 

they  ought  to  be  wrought  together.  Physical  courage  by 
itself  is  not  a  moral  quality.  It  strengthens  and  gives 
splendour  to  moral  qualities  ;  but  alone,  it  is  to  be  praised 
only  as  good  looks,  or  good  health  are  praised.  It  needs  to 
be  linked  to  moral  acts,  or  used  in  behalf  of  true  ideas 
before  it  can  be  highly  honoured.  Shown  in  defence  of  the 
weak,  in  sacrifice  for  love's  sake,  in  death  or  endurance  for 
others,  for  the  sake  of  a  cause  on  which  vast  issues  to  man- 
kind depend,  it  shares  in  the  beauty  and  greatness  of  these 
things,  and  is  worthily  honoured.  The  animal  quality  is 
made  at  one  with  moral,  imaginative,  and  spiritual  qualities, 
and  is,  in  the  union,  ennobled. 

True  courage  shares,  and  must  share,  in  the  powers  of 
faith,  in  the  passion  for  .right,  in  the  qualities  of  love. 
Indeed,  of  it  the  same  things  are  true,  should  we  describe  it, 
that  are  true  of  love.  For  courage  suffereth  long,  and  is 
kind ;  courage  envieth  not ;  courage  vaunteth  not  itself,  is 
not  puffed  up,  doth  not  behave  itself  unseemly ;  seeketh  not 
her  own  ;  is  not  easily  provoked  ;  thinketh  no  evil ;  rejoiceth 
not  in  iniquity,  but  rejoiceth  in  the  truth ;  beareth  all 
things  ;  believeth  all  things  ;  hopeth  all  things ;  endureth  all 
things. 

Out  of  the  clear  view  of  what  Joshua  had  to  do,  and  his 
faith  in  its  Tightness,  and  in  his  own  power,  and  out  of  the 
great  bravery  of  the  man,  arose  the  main  quality  of  his  war- 
like genius,  a  quality  which  is  all  but  constant  in  every  great 
commander ;  in  Alexander,  Caesar,  Frederick,  Marlborough, 
Napoleon — the  quality  of  swiftness.  What  is  to  be  done 
presents  itself  at  once,  and,  along  with  that,  the  action  of  it, 
and  both  are  carried  out  before  another  man  would  have 


The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua.  131 

made  the  first  step.  Twice  in  Joshua's  history  we  meet 
this  swiftness.  The  first  time  was  when  the  five  kings  of 
the  Canaanites  attacked  Gibeon  ;  and  the  second  when  the 
northern  kings  leagued  against  him,  and  made  their  camp 
at  Merom.  The  sudden  rapidity  of  the  march  is  dwelt  on 
in  both  cases.  Joshua  no  sooner  hears  the  news  than  he 
is  afoot.  He  marches  all  night,  and  ere  the  sleep  is  out  of 
the  eyes  of  his  enemies,  his  small  army  is  in  their  midst, 
shouting  its  terror-striking  war  cry. 

That  is  a  quality  we  sorely  want  in  life,  and  as  rarely 
have  ;  swiftness  of  decision,  swiftness  of  action.  "  It  belongs 
to  genius,"  some  say,  "and  it  is  no  use  trying  for  it."  No  ; 
that  is  not  the  true  way  to  put  it.  It  does  belong  to  genius, 
but  it  does  so  because  of  the  steady  work,  and  the  long 
training,  and  the  imaginative  exercise  of  the  intelligence 
which  genius  has  put  itself  through.  These  are  its  roots ; 
these  things  we  all  may  do — a  kind  of  supernatural  insight 
is  not  its  root.  Genius  labours,  and  thinks,  and  makes  ex- 
periments, and  acts,  and  tries  all  methods  of  action  and 
thought,  and  never  ceases  to  do  this  work;  therefore, 
when,  after  this  long  energy  and  practice,  a  new  event  or  a 
new  crisis  calls  on  it  for  action —  it  can  think  and  act  swiftly. 
That  is  the  real  source  of  rapidity,  and  we  may  all  get  a 
great  deal  of  it  in  the  same  way — not  all  that  genius  has, 
but  enough  to  enable  us  to  act  more  readily  than  we  are 
accustomed  to  do.  In  business,  in  the  conduct  of  life,  in 
political  and  literary  movements,  that  is  the  lesson,  and  it  is 
just  as  true  in  the  spiritual  life  of  the  soul.  Think  quickly, 
act  like  lightning,  would  you  be  great ;  but  remember  that 
quick  thought  and  swift  act,  without  years  of  work  and 

I    2 


132  The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua. 

thought  behind  them,  may  bring  you — whether  you  be  men 
of  genius  or  not,  and  even  more  if  you  have  genius — to 
nothing  but  ruin.  Opportunity  can  only  be  grasped  with 
success  when  you  have  got  the  hands  to  hold  it  first.  There- 
fore Christ  said,  "  Take  oil  in  your  vessels  with  your  lamps," 
else  when  the  cry  comes,  "Behold  the  bridegroom  cometh," 
you  will  have  no  light,  and  the  door  will  be  shut. 

2.  And  now  with  regard  to  Joshua's  character  in  its 
relation  to  others.  The  courage  of  which  I  spoke  was 
shown  in  war,  and  at  that  time  war  was  very  pitiless.  Were 
we  to  conduct  war  as  Joshua  did,  our  courage  would  be 
stained  with  crime  ;  but  at  that  time  it  was  not  believed 
to  be  wrong,  but  right,  to  mercilessly  slay  the  enemy. 
And,  indeed,  when  we  make  war  against  a  savage  nation, 
I  do  not  think  we  are  one  whit  better  than  the  Israelites 
under  Joshua  were,  but  as  fierce  and  as  bloodthirsty. 
And  Joshua  had  with  his  faith  the  terrible  intolerance 
of  the  true  believer.  There  is  nothing  more  exterminating 
than  the  idea  of  the  one  God  when  it  is  not  modified 
by  the  doctrine  of  the  Cross.  And  Joshua  was  ruthless, 
but  with  the  ruthlessness  there  was  also  determined 
thoughtfulness  towards  his  end.  He  slew,  not  because  he 
delighted  in  cruelty,  but  because  he  was  resolute  to  get  the 
land  for  Israel,  to  fulfil  the  long  desire  of  Moses,  to  fulfil 
what  he  believed  to  be  the  will  of  God.  He  slew,  not 
because  he  loved  blood,  but  because  he  was  fixed  in  his 
resolution  to  overthrow  idolatry,  and  the  only  way  men 
could  think  of  doing  that  then  was  by  fire  and  sword.  The 
world  had  not  seen  the  more  excellent  way  of  Christ.  And 
Joshua  won  his  day.  There  was  no  retreat  from  his 


The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua.  133 

thoughts,  no  compromise,  no  pause,  no  hesitation.  When 
anything  stood  in  the  way  of  completing  his  thought,  he  was 
as  stern  and  pitiless  as  death.  One  story  represents  it  all. 
At  the  great  crisis  of  the  war,  at  one  of  those  times  when  in 
fierce  excitement — and  Joshua  had  been  living  in  fire  all  the 
day — a  man  shows  what  is  in  him,  at  the  close  of  the  battle 
of  Bethhoron,  he  took  the  kings  out  of  the  cave,  and  cast 
them  on  the  ground,  and  called  to  the  princes  and  captains 
of  Israel — "  Come  near,  and  put  your  feet  on  the  necks  of 
these  kings."  That  stamps  the  man  ;  that  stamped,  by  one 
symbolic  act,  his  one  great  thought  of  Canaan  as  the  heritage 
of  Israel,  into  the  soul  of  every  man  in  the  host.  It  was 
one  of  those  deeds  which  are  never  forgotten  by  a  nation  as 
long  as  the  nation  lives,  which  enter  into  a  nation's  spirit, 
and  are  in  it  as  courage  and  power. 

The  same  stern,  resolute  spirit  worked  towards  his  own 
people.  When  Achan  took  of  the  spoil  of  idolatry,  and  the 
first  trace  appeared  of  that  paltering  with  the  accursed  thing 
which  was  afterwards  to  work  such  woe  to  Israel,  there  was 
no  more  pity  shown  than  was  shown  to  foes,  because  Achan's 
act  endangered  the  ideas  Joshua  was  set  to  guard  and 
establish.  It  were  well  if  we  were  as  ruthless  with  ourselves 
as  he  was  with  Achan ;  well,  if  when  we  are  lured  away  to 
touch  the  accursed  thing,  and  to  join  hands  with  our 
idolatries,  we  should  stone  till  it  died  the  evil  in  us  which 
stands  in  the  way  of  our  realizing  the  thoughts  which  we  are 
bound  to  fulfil  for  God  and  man  in  our  lives.  We  are  not 
half  pitiless  enough  with  ourselves  in  life.  Better  than 
our  false  and  sentimental  mercy  for  evil  is  the  temper  of 
Joshua,  the  temper  of  the  Puritan ;  the  temper  which 


134  The  Life  and  CJiaracter  of  Joshua. 

says,  "  Come  near,  and  put  your  foot  on  the  necks  of 
these  kings." 

It  was  thus  that  Joshua  won  obedience.  He  was  a 
man  that  had  to  be  obeyed,  and  obeyed  he  was.  To 
secure  obedience  is  one  of  the  first  necessities  for  a 
leader  of  men  ;  nay,  for  an  employer  of  labour,  for  the  head 
of  a  business,  for  a  father  in  his  house,  for  a  master  of  a 
school,  for  all  who  have  to  guide.  It  is  the  first  thing  ;  we 
must  secure  it.  The  only  question  is,  how  ?  To  secure  it 
by  brutality  is  finally  to  lose  it.  To  secure  it  despotically  is 
to  encourage  disobedience.  To  secure  it  by  justice,  and  by 
good  sense,  and  by  respect  for  individual  liberty,  is  to 
secure  it  as  Joshua  secured  it.  Yes  ;  even  at  this  early 
time,  that  was  his  way.  Men  saw  that  he  kept  his  word. 
The  carefulness  with  which  he  kept  it  is  shown  in  the 
watchfulness  which  in  the  sack  of  a  city  like  Jericho  could 
attend  to  the  fate  of  Rahab.  The  absolute  sanctity  of  it  is 
shown  in  the  way  in  which,  against  his  own  most  cherished 
thoughts,  against  the  advice  of  many,  he  rescued  the 
Gibeonites,  who  had  tricked  him  and  the  princes  of  Israel 
into  a  promise  of  saving  them.  Though  it  was  to  his  hurt, 
though  he  had  been  defrauded,  his  word  was  sacred.  Every 
soul  in  the  host  knew  then,  that  if  Joshua  claimed 
obedience,  he  claimed  it  on  the  ground  that  truth  should  be 
respected  by  him,  and  justice  done. 

Nor  was  his  good  sense  in  managing  men  less.  They  were 
a  jealous,  quick,  passionate  people  with  whom  he  had  to  do. 
Had  he  assumed  to  himself  the  airs  of  a  despot,  had  he  ruled 
them  like  an  Oriental  tyrant,  he  would  have  won  rebellion 
very  shortly.  But  all  through  his  life  he  consulted  others. 


The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua.  135 

The  princes  are  made  assessors  with  him  in  all  acts  ;  the 
elders  are  consulted  ;  the  people  are  told  his  plans.  Eleazar 
the  priest  is  his  bosom  friend,  and  all  things  are  done  with 
his  help.  Every  Israelite  felt  that  if  Joshua  claimed 
obedience,  he  claimed  it  more  because  of  his  being  the  voice 
of  the  best  men  in  the  congregation  than  because  he  was 
Joshua. 

And  it  was  accompanied  by  the  fullest  recognition  of 
personal  action.  There  is  a  story  in  which  the  rough  common 
sense  and  humour  of  the  man  comes  out  most  pleasantly, 
and  which  illustrates  this  (Joshua  xvii.  14-18).  The  tribe  of 
Ephraim,  his  own  tribe,  claimed  more  than  their  right  in  the 
land.  They  should  have  no  more  than  their  lot,  said 
Joshua ;  for  the  rest,  they  might  get  what  they  could  by 
their  own  hand.  "  If  thou  be  a  great  people,  get  thee  up  to 
the  wood  country  and  cut  down  for  thyself  there,  in  the  land 
of  the  giants,  if  Ephraim  be  too  little  for  thee."  And  when 
they  complained  and  said  that  the  Canaanites  were  strong, 
Joshua's  rude  humour,  while  he  threw  them  on  their  own 
honour  and  courage,  broke  out,  "  Thou  art  a  great  people, 
thou  shalt  not  have  one  lot  only,  the  mountain  shall  be  thine, 
and  the  outgoings  shall  be  thine,  for  thou  shalt  drive  out  the 
Canaanites.  They  have  iron  chariots,  and  they  are  strong." 
Those  were  pleasant  outgoings  for  a  people  who  wanted  to 
sit  still.  Even  for  his  friend  Caleb,  who  wanted  the  rich 
vintage  valley  of  Hebron,  Joshua  had  the  same  kind  of 
word.  He  might  have  it,  but  he  must  win  it ;  and  Caleb 
did  win  it,  driving  out  the  vast  sons  of  Anak.  This  was  the 
sort  of  man  to  make  warriors  of  a  nation,  and  to  win  their 
obedience. 


136  The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua. 

And  they  are  all  qualities  we  need  if  we  would  be  useful 
fathers,   leaders,    employers,    officers,    statesmen ;  in  every 
position  in  which  by  making  and  winning  obedience  we  have 
to  organize  and  educate  children,  labourers,  soldiers,  a  party, 
a  following,  or  a  nation.     Is  your  word  sacred,  even  to  your 
own  hurt ;  can  men  depend  on  what  you  say  and  feel  they 
can  so  depend  ?     Are  they  sure  of  justice  from  you,  sure 
that,  till  you  have  heard  all  sides,  you  will  not  give  sentence; 
sure  that  you  will  put  prejudice  and  party  and  personal 
passion  aside  ?      Are  they  sure  that  even  when  you  are  de- 
frauded and  cheated,  and  yet  have  promised,  that  you  will 
be  careful  to  be  true  to  the  last  shred  of  your  promise  ?   Are 
they  certain  of  your  honesty  of  purpose,  do  they  see  that 
ideas,  or  your  cause,  and  not  your  own  interest,  are  first  with 
you  ?      Are  they  convinced  that  you  do  not  act  hastily,  or 
for  your  own  selfish  ends,  but  with  care  for  the  whole  com- 
munity or  household  or  party,  by  your  readiness  to  listen  to 
or  to  consult  with  others  ?    Do  they  feel  that  under  you  they 
have  a  chance  of  self-development ;  that  you  look  out  for 
their  abilities  and  give  them  the  work  they  can  do  well,  laying 
aside  your  own  doing  of  it  and  your  own  glory  to  promote 
theirs  ;  and  do  they  find  in  you,  not  solitary  moroseness,  or 
retiring  pride,  but  a  pleasant  comradeship,  a  humour  either 
rough  or  gay,  but  full  of  desire  for  their  honour  ;  a  humour 
that  makes  them  feel  that  life  is  not  too  hard  for  conquest ; 
which  sets  hard  tasks  but  laughs  as  it  sets  them,  in  reliance 
on  your  courage ;  and,  lastly,  do  they  find  in  you  a  clear 
good  sense,  which,  for  the  interests  of  the  whole,  puts  aside 
all  favouritism,  which,  wnile  you  love  your  own  household 
and  your  friends,  keeps  that  love  for  private  life,  and  in 


The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua.  137 

public,  honours  and  loves  best  those  who  are  most  useful 
and  most  faithful  to  the  interests  of  the  household,  the 
community,  or  the  nation  ?  Then  you  will  be  obeyed  and 
merit  obedience  ;  otherwise  not. 

I  turn  now  to  Joshua's  more  secret  feelings  ;  to  the  inner 
life  of  the  man.  We  have  painted  him  as  he  was  on  the 
outside,  in  those  matters  which  belonged  to  his  mission  and 
his  relation  to  his  people  and  his  enemies.  The  poetry  in 
him,  the  sentiment  in  him,  if  he  had  either,  we  have  not 
touched. 

Of  poetry  there  was  not  much ;  his  was  not  the  lyric 
temper.  Among  a  people  who  sang  naturally  in  verse,  his 
voice  was  silent,  though  he  made  the  subjects  for  songs. 
But  it  is  not  uncommon  that  such  men,  at  some  passionate 
crisis  of  their  lives,  have  for  a  moment  found  themselves 
forced  to  express  emotion  in  a  higher  form  than  that  of 
prose.  There  are  many  instances  of  men  who  have  pro- 
duced a  single  poem.  It  was  once  so  with  Joshua.  He 
had  rushed  up  all  night  from  Gilgal  and  fallen  on  his  foes. 
On  the  fate  of  the  battle  hung  the  whole  fortunes  of  Israel. 
All  the  day  he  had  fought  with  the  enemy,  and  now  they 
were  driving  in  headlong  flight  down  the  steep  of  Bethhoron. 
He  saw  the  long,  long  desire  of  hundreds  of  yeais,  the  long 
desire  of  his  master,  his  own  passionate  hope  fulfilled. 
Canaan  was  theirs  !  It  was  enough  to  excite  a  man  who 
had  not  slept,  who  had  marched  all  night,  who  had  fought 
for  a  whole  day.  And  now,  to  heighten  his  excitement,  the 
storm  broke  forth,  the  thunder  roared.  God  spoke  in  the 
crash,  and  the  sweeping  hail,  and  the  blinding  lightning. 
The  wild  shout  of  the  people  in  pursuit  reached  him  on  his 


138  TJie  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua. 

height,  and,  in  the  wild  inspiration  of  the  hour,  he  broke 
into  poetry : — 

"  Stand  thou  still,  O  sun,  upon  Gibeon  ; 
And  thou,  moon,  on  the  valley  of  Aialon  ! " 

They  may  well  be  his  very  words.  They  are  some  of  the 
oldest  words  in  the  Bible,  wrought  afterwards  into  the 
ancient  verses  of  the  Book  of  Heroes,  which  is  quoted  in  our 
Book  of  Joshua.  "  And  the  sun  was  still,  and  the  moon 
stayed,  until  the  people  had  avenged  them  on  their  enemies." 
It  was  no  wonder  Joshua  burst  into  song,  no  wonder  in  the 
light  that  followed  the  storm  the  simple  men  of  the  time  saw 
God's  answer  to  His  servant's  cry. 

That  was  the  first  and  the  last  poetry  of  Joshua.  But  of 
the  poetry  of  human  feeling,  of  the  sentiment  that  flows, 
voiceless,  round  the  love  of  country,  of  friends,  of  home,  his 
life  had  enough  to  satisfy  imagination. 

For  forty  years  he  followed  and  clung  to  Moses,  in  daily 
service.  Nothing  but  love  could  do  that.  The  strong  de- 
votion of  the  rougher  to  the  finer  character,  of  the  practical 
to  the  ideal  (for  it  was  the  ideal  part  of  Moses  that  won 
Joshua's  love),  of  which  there  are  many  examples  in  history 
— that  was  Joshua's  steady  romance.  Then  we  may  well 
imagine  that  there  was  a  close  friendship  between  him 
and  Caleb.  Of  all  the  host  these  two  alone  remembered 
Egypt ;  had  seen  together,  face  to  face,  all  the  wonders  of 
the  wilderness.  Of  all  the  ancient  host  they  had  alone  been 
faithful  to  trust  and  courage.  They  had  together  maintained 
that  the  Canaanites,  huge  and  powerful  as  they  were,  would 
be  as  water  before  their  valour.  Caleb  had  the  same  dash, 


The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua.  139 

the  same  fierce  strength,  the  same  indomitable  belief  in  him- 
self, the  same  spirit  of  adventure  as  Joshua.  In  his  old  age 
when  he  won  Hebron,  and  founded  the  mighty  tribe  of 
Judah  in  its  place,  he  set  into  flame  his  followers  for  adven- 
ture, and  the  one  romantic  story  of  the  Book  of  Joshua,  where 
the  women  of  Judah  are  shown  as  the  inspirers  of  chivalric  act, 
is  a  story  of  the  family  of  Caleb. 

So  it  is  a  pleasant  thought  to  think  of  Joshua  and  Caleb 
together  in  their  old  age,  when  both  had  settled  down. 
What  talk  they  would  have  had  ;  what  memories  of  Egypt ; 
how  the  young  men  must  have  clustered  round  them  in  the 
evening  to  hear  the  tale  of  the  deliverance,  of  the  Red  Sea, 
of  Sinai,  from  the  lips  of  those  who  alone  in  the  whole 
of  Israel  had  seen  the  things  ;  and  how  closely  this  strange, 
isolated  relationship  must  have  knit  them  together  !  There 
is  no  more  poetic  situation  in  the  whole  of  the  Bible ! 
Consider  it,  picture  that  relationship.  It  carries  us  out  of 
the  tumult  of  war  into  the  peace  of  life's  eventide,  away 
from  the  vision  of  the  ruthless  conquerors  to  that  of  the 
quiet  friends  who  sat  chatting  together  on  the  slopes  of 
Gerizim,  listening  to  the  music  of  the  many  springs  that  still 
fall  from  rock  to  rock,  and  hearing  in  the  shouting  of  the 
reapers  in  the  valley,  so  rich  in  corn  that  it  laughed  and 
sang,  the  witness  and  proof  of  the  fulfilment  of  God's 
promise  to  their  fathers. 

The  picture  strikes  the  note  of  Joshua's  old  age.  When 
the  conquest  was  over,  he  sought  a  home.  He  found  it  in 
the  midst  of  his  own  tribe,  the  mighty  tribe  of  Ephraim ;  in 
the  central  valley  of  Canaan,  at  Shechem,  "the  border  of 
the  Sanctuary,"  on  which  Mount  Gerizim  looked,  "  the 


140  The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua. 

mountain  which  the  right  hand  of  God  had  purchased."  It 
was  a  fitting  place  to  spend  the  last  days  of  a  life  which  had 
been  lived  to  secure  the  promise  given  to  Abraham,  Isaac 
and  Jacob.  For  the  country  was  steeped  in  the  traditions 
of  his  fathers.  It  was  on  Gerizim's  height,  the  story  ran,  that 
Abraham  had  taken  the  knife  to  slay  his  son,  and  God  had 
interposed  to  promise  him  the  land.  It  was  on  Gerizim 
that  Melchisedek,  men  said,  had  ministered.  It  was  in  the 
valley  below  that  the  tribal  oak  had  been  consecrated  by 
Abraham.  Beneath  its  shade  Joshua  spoke,  beneath  it  Isaac 
had  rested  and  Jacob  worshipped.  Close  by  Shechem  was 
Jacob's  well,  and  Jacob's  dwelling  place  for  many  years. 
Everything  he  saw  recalled  his  fathers  and  the  promise, 
and  Joshua's  heart  swelled  with  joy  as  he  looked  down 
from  his  house,  and  felt  that  God  had  done  so  great  a 
work. 

Finally,  one  great  ceremony  embodied  all  his  life. 
There,  in  full  assembly  of  Israel,  he  celebrated  the 
fulfilment  of  the  promise  by  laying  the  bones  of  Joseph  at 
last  to  rest.  They  had  remained,  waiting  for  deliverance, 
in  Egypt,  for  many,  many  years.  "  God  shall  surely  visit 
you,"  said  Joseph,  dying,  "and  ye  shall  carry  up  my  bones 
from  thence."  They  had  been  taken  with  them  that  terrible 
night,  and  crossed  the  sea  with  the  escaping  host.  They 
had  rested  at  Sinai,  gone  through  the  wilderness,  accom- 
panied the  conquest — their  Palladium,  the  immortal  witness 
of  what  Israel  had  done  in  Egypt,  and  was  to  be  in 
Canaan — and,  on  this  solemn  day,  of  all  that  Israel  had 
attained.  And  now,  after  so  many  restless  years,  they 
were  put  to  sleep  at  last,  in  the  plot  of  ground  that  Jacob 


The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua.  141 

had  given  to  his  son  Joseph.  It  was  the  crowning  act  of 
Joshua's  life. 

Yet  he  lived  a  long  time  after  that  God  had  given  his 
people  rest.  It  was,  to  the  end,  a  life  of  work,  quiet  but 
steady  —  work  of  arrangement,  allotment,  consultation, 
advice.  Every  week  he  went  to  confer  with  Eleazar.  He 
set  up  his  house,  organized  the  city,  build  the  citadel, 
secured  and  wrought  together  the  land  he  had  conquered 
and  the  nation  he  had  made.  And  then,  old  and  stricken 
in  years,  beneath  the  oak  of  Abraham  and  Jacob,  he  called 
together  the  people,  and  made  his  last  farewell,  set  up  the 
pillar  men  long  remembered,  and  died,  rooting  still  deeper 
by  his  speech  in  the  minds  of  his  nation  the  two  sides  of  his 
life ;  for  he  made  a  covenant  with  them  that  they  would 
be  true  to  the  invincible  God  of  Moses,  and  he  told  them 
again  and  again  that  Canaan,  God's  promised  land,  was. 
theirs  for  ever. 

Oh,  may  we,  when  our  age  comes,  so  live  and  die  !  After 
long  education,  after  stormy  manhood,  after  unbroken 
pursuit  of  our  idea,  after  the  wars  of  life  in  which  we 
conquer  the  enemies  of  our  work  and  place  our  foot  upon 
their  necks — may  we  sit  down  in  peace,  not  without  friends 
and  love,  and  build  our  house  of  rest,  and  lay  down  our 
thoughts  and  work,  having  finished  them,  as  Joshua  laid 
down  the  bones  of  Joseph — yet,  while  we  live,  be  not  without 
work ;  supporting  and  watching  the  results  of  all  we  have 
accomplished ;  by  our  wisdom  dividing  and  providing  new 
toil  for  others ;  making  our  experience  useful ;  happy  with 
our  old  companions ;  delighted  with  the  young  warriors  of 
life  whom  we  encourage  ;  and  bidding,  finally,  farewell  to 


142  The  Life  and  Character  of  Joshua. 

all,  before  we  go  to  God,  with  solemn  words  of  warning, 
hope  and  love — none  better  than  those  of  Joshua  to  his 
people — "Cleave  to  the  Lord  your  God;"  "Be  very 
courageous  to  keep  the  law  of  God ;"  "One  man  of  you 
shall  chase  a  thousand  " — hear  the  old  warrior  ring — "  Take 
good  heed  that  ye  love  the  Lord  your  God  -" — and  at  last 
with  our  last  breath,  rejoicing  in  the  fulfilment  of  the  work 
of  life  in  God,  have  utter  joy  in  death  as  we  look  back 
on  the  duties  we  have  done,  and  the  long  years  we  have 
fulfilled. 

"And  behold  this  day  I  am  going  the  way  of  all  the 
earth,  and  ye  know  in  all  your  hearts  and  in  all  your  souls, 
that  not  one  thing  hath  failed  of  all  the  good  things  which 
the  Lord  your  God  spake  concerning  you ;  all  hath  come  to 
pass  unto  you,  and  not  one  thing  hath  failed  thereof." 

To  the  last,  triumphant  faith — a  warrior's  courage  ! 


143 


[July  I,   1883.] 
THE  LATER   CHOICE   OF  LIFE. 

"And  it  came  to  pass,  when  they  had  brought  them  forth  abroad, 
that  he  said,  Escape  for  thy  life  ;  look  not  behind  thee,  neither  stay 
thou  in  all  the  plain;  escape  to  the  mountain,  lest  thou  be  consumed  !" 
GENESIS  xix.  17. 

THERE  is  no  need  for  me  to  explain  or  to  rationalize  this 
story,  to  show  how  far  it  may  be  historical  and  how  far  not. 
All  that  is  waste  of  time.  Only  one  thing  is  historical  in  it, 
and  that  is  the  destruction  of  the  cities  of  the  plain  of 
Siddim  by  a  volcanic  earthquake,  with  its  usual  accompani- 
ments. With  regard  to  the  rest  of  the  tale,  it  is  better  at 
once  to  class  it  under  the  title  of  a  legend,  invented  by  the 
writer,  with  a  patriotic  and  a  religious  purpose,  out  of  some 
scanty  materials.  We  are  then  enabled,  taking  it  as  such, 
to  get  out  of  it  such  lessons  for  life  as  we  derive  from  other 
religious  legends  invented  by  men  who,  filled  with  the  ex- 
perience of  human  life,  and  eager  to  warn  and  teach,  em- 
bodied their  thoughts  in  a  story.  Take,  then,  the  characters 
as  real  in  the  realm  of  poetry,  but  not  historical ;  take  the 
events  as  we  take  the  events  in  the  legend  of  Achilles  or 
Arthur,  and  let  us  see  what  the  early  artist  meant  and  how 
far  his  poetic  representation  of  a  scene  in  the  drama  of 
human  life  can  speak  to  us  across  the  centuries.  As  in  all 
fine  artistic  work,  the  characters  are  made  so  real  that  we 


144  The  Later  Choice  of  Life. 

may  treat  them  for  our  purpose  as  if  they  had  been  true. 
Lot  and  Abraham  stand  out  as  representative  of  two  types 
—  of  types  now  among  us,  and  the  events  which  exercise 
them  are  such  as,  in  their  spirit,  may  happen  now. 

Some  time  before,  matters  had  come  to  a  point  in  the 
life  of  Lot  and  Abraham.  Their  servants  quarrelled,  and  it 
was  necessary,  for  the  sake  of  peace  and  friendship,  that 
they  should  break  up  their  united  lives  and  dwell  apart;  and 
Abraham,  in  his  grand  and  easy  way,  said  to  Lot,  "  Take 
your  choice,  and  what  you  leave  I  will  have  for  mine." 
And  Lot  chose  the  rich  valley,  and  Abraham  took  the 
mountain  and  the  pilgrim  life ;  not  that  he  would 
have  chosen  any  other,  but  the  writer  of  the  story  made  it 
so.  So  Abraham  was  left  alone  with  God  and  high  thoughts 
and  plain  living,  to  live  apart,  till  death,  his  life  of  faith  ;  and 
Lot  went  down  to  the  cities  where  ease  and  wealth  and 
comfort  were,  among  men  who  in  sin  and  sloth  had  forgotten 
judgment.  And  if  he  were  vexed,  as  a  later  writer  said,  by 
the  foul  life  around  him,  he  seems  to  have  borne  it  with 
enough  complacency.  At  any  rate,  while  Abraham's 
character  deepened  into  grandeur,  Lot's  degraded  into 
weakness. 

Character,  then,  hangs  on  a  choice  of  this  kind,  and  it  is 
a  choice  which  does  not  belong  to  youth,  but  to  later  life. 
Both  these  periods  of  life  have  their  hour  of  decision,  but  it 
is  the  later  one  of  which  we  think  to-day. 

The  fable  is  always  true  which  represents  the  choice 
which  has  to  be  made  at  the  entrance  into  life.  Two 
women  stand  before  us,  clad  each  in  the  vesture  of  their 
character.  One,  with  a  majestic  beauty,  half  of  which  is 


XJKIVERSIT 

The  Later  Choice  of  Life.  145 


strength,  and  on  whose  face  is  the  loveliness  of  experience 
and  power,  will  guide  us  to  the  mountain  paths  where 
every  step  is  labour,  and  the  end  of  which  is  wisdom  and 
force,  and  power  to  give  power  and  blessing.  The  other,  on 
whose  face  is  the  beauty  of  the  wind  and  the  flowers,  and 
whose  eyes  dance  with  the  brightness  of  pleasure,  and 
whose  feet,  with  the  lightness  of  impulse,  will  guide  us  to 
the  stream-fed  valley,  where  every  wish  breaks  into  flowers 
at  our  feet  and  the  sunlight  is  warm  as  love.  And  the 
end  of  it  is  slavery,  and  weakness,  and  weariness,  and  the 
knowledge  of  wrong  that  cannot  be  set  right.  And  as  we 
look  back,  the  valley  of  past  years  is  waste,  and  the 
flowers  dead,  and  the  stream  dry. 

Then,  from  the  end  of  the  valley,  where  the  mountain 
is  pathless,  we  must,  if  we  would  escape,  ascend,  for  the 
abyss  is  before  us.  But  with  what  torment  is  the  mountain 
climbed  then !  It  is  well  for  us  if  there  is  left  enough 
of  fierce  impatience  in  our  hearts  to  carry  us  over  rocks  and 
brake,  before  the  night  fall,  to  the  way  of  strength  and 
renunciation  ! 

So  is  it  in  youth.  But  even  if  we  have  taken  the 
mountain  path  at  the  beginning,  or  even  if  we  have  escaped 
from  the  valley  of  pleasure,  and  are  now  pursuing  the 
upward  climb,  and  have  won  our  way  half  way  up 
the  mountain  side  of  life,  is  there  no  further  choice  ? 
Do  the  two  fair  women  never  appear  again?  Yes, 
in  later  life.  There  is  then  an  hour  of  decision  on  which 
hangs  the  weightiest  issue  possible !  A  sudden  turn  that 
seems  fortuitous,  comes  in  the  path;  some  event  has  made  it, 
in  our  own  life  or  in  another's — such  as  this  quarrel  between 

K 


146  The  Later  Choice  of  Life. 

the  herdsmen  of  Abraham  and  Lot ;  or  a  new  element 
enters  from  without  into  our  lives,  and,  all  in  a  moment, 
we  meet  the  two  women  again,  face  to  face !  But  their 
form  is  changed,  and  their  offers  are  changed,  and  we  are 
changed.  We  have  now  won  wisdom  and  knowledge,  great 
or  little ;  the  tools  of  life  are  in  our  hands  and  we  know  how 
to  use  them  ;  we  have  gained  power,  and  that  conscious 
sense  of  it  which  doubles  its  capacity.  We  have  won,  not 
only  power,  but  also  the  knowledge  of  our  weakness,  of 
what  we  cannot  do,  so  that  we  can  avoid  waste  of  energy. 
We  are  equipped,  and  our  step  is  easy  up  the  mountain,  if 
our  heart  is  light.  \Vhat  do  the  women  want  ?  Why  do 
they  stop  the  way  ?  Well,  the  time  has  come  when  we  must 
choose  between  the  world  and  God;  between  a  life  of  slavery 
and  a  life  of  simplicity.  And  she  who  of  old  was  Pleasure 
stands  before  us  now — superb,  with  wealth  in  her  hand, 
and  a  crown  ablaze  with  gems  of  fame  upon  her  head,  and  with 
the  pride  of  life  glittering  in  her  eye — the  Queen  of  the  World, 
who  will  give  us  many  things,  almost  all  things  but  Peace, 
and  Love,  and  God.  In  her  skirts  are  hidden  cares,  and 
cravings,  and  insatiableness,  and  coldness  of  heart ;  and 
round  her  feet  serpents  are  crawling  —  Meanness,  the 
Peceitfulness  of  wealth,  and  Lying,  and  Dishonesty,  and 
Vulgarity  of  heart.  "  Come  with  me,"  she  cries,  "  turn 
the  stones  of  this  desert  into  gold  !  There  is  a  valley  close 
by  here,  in  the  heart  of  the  hill,  where  you  shall  have 
worship,  and  pleasure,  and  ease,  and  luxury.  Climb  the 
arduous  hill  no  more ;  you  have  done  enough  of  aspiration  ! 
The  summit  of  the  Ideal  is  cold  and  lonely ;  cling  to  the  glory 
of  wealth  and  ease  and  to  your  own  will — to  the  material 


The  Later  Choice  of  Life.  147 

and  the  practical.  Thousand  thousand  are  my  followers, 
and  the  whole  valley  is  warmed  with  fires — not  with  this 
sunshine  of  the  mountain  side,  broken  by  storms,  so  that 
you  have  no  peace  as  you  climb  !  You  shall  have  all  things 
you  need  for  outward  life."  And  the  promises  dazzle  our 
eyes  and  heart,  and  we  yield  to  her  voice,  and  the  rest  of  life 
is  given  to  that  service — a  service  that  changes  into  slavery. 
"And  Lot  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  beheld  all  the  plain  of 
Jordan  that  it  was  well  watered  everywhere,  as  the  garden 
of  the  Lord ;  and  he  chose  it,  and  pitched  his  tent 
towards  Sodom,"  and  came  to  dwell  therein. 

But  it  may  be  we  pause  awhile,  taught,  perhaps,  by  the 
pain  we  have  suffered  in  escaping  from  the  valley  of  Pleasure, 
and  listen  to  the  other  woman.     She  has  no  splendid  robes, 
no  glittering  crown,  no  horn  of  plenty  in  her  hand,  nor  is 
there  on  her  face  that  audacious  beauty.    Her  garment  is  of 
silver-grey,  woven  without  seam  from  the  top  to  the  bottom, 
and  in  its  folds  lurk  no  hidden  things,  for  fold  it  has  none. 
And  her  head  is  hooded,  but  the  hood  does  not  hide  her 
lovely  face  where  many  sorrows  have  been,  but  where  peace 
is  conquering  sorrow  ;  nor  her  eyes,  in  whose  depths  is  seen, 
far   off,   perfect  joy;  nor  her  smile,   downcast,   but  noble, 
which  has  the  promise  of  infinity ;  and  in  her  hand  is  the 
secret  of  love.     "  Come/'  she  cries,  "  with  me,  and  climb 
the   mountain   still.     We  shall  have  storm  and  pain,   but 
natural  shall  be  the  sunlight,  and  the  pleasures  shall  be 
noble.     And  the  mountain  top  of  the  Ideal  is  not  so  cold 
and  not  so  lonely,  for  God  is  there  and  the  assembly  of 
those  who  never  ceased  to  strive;  lovers  of  righteousness, 
lovers  of  beauty,  lovers  of  truth ;    those  uncontented  save 

K  2 


148  The  Later  Choice  of  Life. 

with  perfection.  You  shall  not  have  wealth,  but  you  shall 
keep  wonder ;  you  shall  not  have  the  praise  of  men,  but  you 
shall  retain  admiration,  hope,  and  love ;  you  shall  not  have 
the  wisdom  of  the  world  which  is  involved,  but  you  shall 
retain  the  wisdom  of  the  child  among  the  powers  of  faithful 
work  ;  and  yours  shall  be  the  simplicity  of  humility,  and 
singleness  of  aim,  and  fidelity  to  truth,  and  carelessness  of 
debasing  cares.  No  sensuous  pleasure  is  in  my  power,  nor 
splendid  display,  but  you  shall  have  the  unpurchased  joy 
which  receives  all  the  joy  of  the  universe  into  its  breast  because 
it  thinks  not  of  itself;  and  the  splendour  of  God  shall  be 
your  delight.  I  will  give  you  no  outward  things,  but  I  will 
make  you  noble  within  ;  and  when  you  are  dead,  in  the 
seed  that  you  have  sown  shall  all  families  of  the  earth  be 
blessed." 

A  wonderful  voice  it  is,  and  great  is  the  beauty  of  the 
woman ;  and  as  we  climb  with  her,  more  and  more  lovely 
shine  her  eyes,  and  deeper  is  the  light  within  her 
countenance.  Follow  her,  for  in  her  hand  are  the  issues 
of  true  life,  since  in  her  hand  is  Love.  Follow  her,  if  you 
have  the  heart  to  do  it ;  but  if  you  follow,  look  not  back 
with  regret,  lest  you  lose  her  perfect  joy,  nor  think  for  one 
instant  of  all  the  glittering  things  which  fall  on  the  path  of 
that  stately  and  rich  Dame  whose  hand  you  have  put  aside 
for  ever.  Choose,  and  cling  to  your  choice.  Love  not  the 
world,  nor  the  things  of  the  world.  And  Abraham  went 
forth  a  pilgrim,  and  dwelt  in  the  uncitied  plains  and  in  the 
hills,  and  spoke  with  God,  and  wandering,  built  at  every 
place  he  dwelt  in  an  altar  to  the  Lord ;  a  stern  and  simple 
life,  but  blessed  within  with  righteousness. 


The.  Later  Choice  of  Life.  149 

That  is  the  choice  of  later  life,  and  then,  more  even  than 
in  earlier  life,  are  the  words  true — "  Strait  is  the  gate  and 
narrow  the  way  that  leadeth  unto  life,  and  few  there  be  that 
find  it."  For  a  hundred  that  go  with  Abraham,  there  are 
thousands  that  go  with  Lot.  And  what  do  they  get  in  the 
end  thereof  ?  When  the  latter  days  came,  what  has  become 
of  Lot,  and  what  of  Abraham  ?  what  of  him  that  went  with 
the  World,  and  of  him  that  went  with  the  Ideal  ? 

Let  us  follow  the  story,  for  though  it  could  not  paint  all 
the  types  of  those  who  take  to  the  life  of  comfort,  and 
getting  on,  and  self-pleasing,  and  inward  death,  yet  it  paints 
one  type  in  Lot,  and  sketches  another  in  his  wife.  They 
lived  in  peace  for  years,  when,  all  in  an  instant,  their  easy 
life  broke  up  in  judgment  and  dismay  ;  such  dismay  and 
judgment  as  falls  on  many  now  in  loss  of  fortune,  loss  of 
honour,  loss  of  health,  in  the  fires  and  earthquake  of  life- 
things  which,  when  they  come  upon  a  heart  like  Abraham's, 
simple,  and  pure,  and  strong,  and  full  of  faith  in  God, 
awaken  in  it  vigour  and  joy  of  battle,  and  certainty  of 
conquest ;  but  which,  sweeping  in  on  a  heart  softened  and 
enervated  like  Lot's,  are  ruin.  Clanging  in  his  ears,  so  long 
lulled  to  the  music  of  luxury,  came  the  cry,  "  Escape  for  thy 
life,  escape  to  the  mountains,  lest  thou  be  consumed  ! "  He 
had  enough  of  faith  to  obey  the  call,  but  with  what  miserable 
weakness  it  was  obeyed !  All  his  character  had  been 
enfeebled.  He  had  had  strength  enough  not  to  join  in  the 
wickedness  around  him  in  the  city,  but  not  strength  enough 
to  leave  it ;  content  to  live  among  evil,  yet  soothing  his  soul 
with  the  thought  that  he  was  free  from  it ;  lingering  on  in 
habits  of  life  which  were  stealing  away,  day  by  day,  his  moral 


150  The  Later  Choice  of  Life, 

and  spiritual  power ;   doing   all    his   goodness   by  halves  ; 
slipping    further    and    further    away    from    righteousness : 
enervated,   softened,   unmanly  ;   incapable  of  grasping  any 
crisis    firmly ;    incapable    of    seeing    absolute    necessities ; 
clinging  to  situations  that  had  become  impossible ;  shutting 
his  eyes  to  the  hour  of  judgment,  like  us,  when  for  years  we 
have  abandoned  the  mountain  life.     He  had  to  be  forced 
away — so  vivid  is  the  story.     He  dreaded  the  night  journey, 
begged  with  unmanly  wailing  for  a  respite — few  words  in 
the  Bible  are  more  abject  than  his  prayer  for  Zoar;  all  his 
life  long  "  letting  I  dare  not  wait  upon  I  would."     This  was 
the  character  wrought  by  the  world  in  his  heart.     So  he  fled 
away,  helpless,  unsupported,  inwardly  complaining,  into  the 
night,  while  behind  him  the  fire  fell  upon  his  home.      But 
he  took  with  him  into  solitude  the  character  he  had  made 
for  himself.     When  morning  came  he  looked  back  over  a 
wasted  life,  and  looked  forward  to  a  lonely  end — his  memory 
haunted  with  sights  of  sin,  his  soul  sick  with  its  own  weak- 
ness, dogged  to  the  grave  with  the  sense  of  miserable  failure. 
Follow  him  to  the  end,  and  see  how  the  lesson  deepens. 
He  feared  to  remain  in  Zoar,  the  terrors  were  about  him. 
He  fled  to  the  mountain  to  live  in  fruitless  solitude.      Then 
drunkenness,  the  sin  of  the  lonely,  stole  over  him,  and  in  his 
family  was  the  trail  of  abominable  evil — and  then  there  is  no 
more.     He  goes  out  in  silence — and  it  is  best. 

Is  this  a  legend  of  three  thousand  years  ago  ?  Why,  it 
happened  yesterday,  down  in  the  City— here,  in  the  West 
End !  How  do  I  know  it  is  not  happening  at  this  instant, 
while  I  preach,  in  the  hearts  of  some  among  us?  For  if  it 
be  not  outward  ruin  through  inward  weakness  that  we  see, 


The  Later  Choice  of  Life.  151 

it  may  be  the  inward  ruin  which  we  cannot  see  with  our 
eyes.  The  man  who  will  not  separate  himself  from  the  evil 
of  the  world  because  he  enjoys  the  life  which  accompanies 
that  evil,  who  overlooks  wrong  lest  he  should  be  disturbed 
in -his  comfort,  who  shelves  the  convictions  of  his  soul  that 
he  may  not  offend  those  whom  yet  he  thinks  untrue,  who 
suffers  the  sensual  while  he  claims  to  be  righteous,  who  sits 
in  the  gate  of  Sodom,  and  yet  tries  to  enter  the  gate  of 
Heaven,  who  would  turn  the  crown  of  thorns  into  a  crown 
of  flowers,  and  the  cross  into  a  bed  of  roses,  may  be  delivered 
from  this  vile  life  when  judgment  falls,  but  it  will  be  so  as 
by  fire — a  brand  plucked  from  the  burning,  as  the  prophet 
called  Lot ;  but  even  delivered,  he  is  miserable  ;  a  weak, 
broken,  self-despised,  guilt-beset,  complaining,  empty  man. 
Nothing  is  left  within  but  the  desert,  and  silence  and  death 
are  his  only  friends. 

While  you  can,  before  it  be  too  late,  ere  the  judgment  fall, 
before  the  hand  of  the  driving  angel  is  on  your  shoulder, 
escape  to  the  mountains,  seize,  at  whatever  cost,  the  life  of 
Abraham.  Better  to  die  in  that  effort  than  to  live  any  more 
in  the  world  of  weakness  and  pleasure,  in  the  slumber  of 
sloth,  or  the  greed  of  wealth. 

Lot  had  some  character,  and  it  was  spoiled ;  but  there 
was  another  with  him — his  wife — who  seems  to  symbolize 
those  persons  whom  the  mere  life  of  wealthy  commonplace 
and  comfort  forbids  to  grow.  They  may  have  a  character, 
but  it  is  never  developed.  I  might  sketch  her  from  fancy 
as  the  type  of  many  :  nothing  actually  evil,  nothing  actually 
good,  insensibly  taking  the  hue  of  the  society  and  times  in 
which  she  lived  :  not  sufficiently  astir  to  swim  herself  witli 


152  The  Later  Choice  of  Life. 

the  stream  of  impulse,  but  unresistingly  borne  with  it ;  in 
one  point  alone  her  attachments  strong,  in  a  blind,  cat-like, 
clinging  to  the  habits  of  the 'life  and  place  she  was  accus- 
tomed to,  until  all  new  action  and  new  thought  seemed 
intolerable. 

So,  she  made  ready  to  go  with  her  husband,  but  drawn 
aside  by  long  established  ties,  still  loitered  in  the  well-known 
streets — torpid  with  long  comfort,  loath  to  let  go  the  old, 
loath  to  begin  the  new;  now  wishing  to  gather  and  take 
with  her  the  things  with  which  her  life  was  bound  up ;  now 
wishing  again  to  see  her  friends  ;  wholly  confused  with  the 
sudden  summons  to  depart  and  without  a  grain  of  faith  in 
its  necessity,  for  she  had  no  world  beyond  her  senses — lin- 
gering, lingering  on  in  passive  sensuousness,  till  it  was  too  late. 
FlyiRg  alone  across  the  plain,  encumbered  with  the  relics  of 
her  old  life,  like  many  a  one  whose  story  is  told  in  the  over- 
throw of  the  cities  of  Campania,  she  was  overtaken  by  the 
deadly  vapour,  fixed  in  death,  and  round  her  piled  the 
storm-driven  salt,  a  monument  of  the  doom  that  attends 
delay  when  Heaven  and  earth  are  come  together  in  judg- 
ment. 

It  is  a  vivid  story,  and  all  the  more  vivid  to  us  when 
we  take  it  with  a  symbolic  meaning,  as  Christ  himself  took 
it.  "Remember  Lot's  wife."  When  the  day  of  proof  and 
choice  arrives,  when  life  comes  to  a  crisis,  and  God  speaks 
at  last,  it  is  not  the  time  for  loitering,  for  clinging  to  the 
past,  for  trying  to  carry  with  you  into  the  future  the  relics  of 
the  old.  Escape  for  thy  life,  cries  God,  escape  to  the 
mountain  world ;  the  very  angel's  hand  is  felt  upon  the 
shoulder,  pushing  us  forth — and  yet  we  linger  enthralled 


The  Later  Choice  of  Life.  153 

putting  off  the  new  duty ;  loving  the  ancient  house  of  life, 
passively  clinging  to  the  habits  or  sins  of  life,  unable  to 
move  till  it  is  too  late — and  the  judgment  comes.  For  life 
we  are  fixed  into  the  death  from  which  we  might  have 
broken  away.  The  vapours  of  habitual  wrong  stifle  the 
soul,  and  our  life  is  salt — dull  bitterness,  or,  if  we  waken 
into  anger — as  some  of  this  type  have  done  at  last — savage 
self-contempt. 

So,  in  these  two  examples  worked  the  world.  The  fate 
of  neither  could  have  come  in  youth  or  early  manhood.  It 
belonged,  in  both  cases,  to  later  life.  It  was  the  result  of  a 
choice  made  in  the  midst  of  life.  As  I  have  said  before, 
so  I  say  again,  it  is  not  so  much  in  youth,  as  when  we 
have  all  our  powers  clear  and  our  character  formed,  that 
the  real  crisis  comes.  Each  has  his  own  testing,  but  in  our 
society  the  most  common  is  that  of  which  I  have  spoken. 
Will  you  turn  then  to  the  life  of  the  world,  or  will  you 
live  the  simpler  life  that  Abraham  lived  ?  Which  character 
shall  be  yours,  for  that  is  the  best  way  to  put  it,  and  what 
shall  be  your  end  ? 

We  have  dwelt  on  Lot,  and  on  the  miserable  fate  he 
made  ;  on  his  wife  and  her  piteous  close.  It  is  like  passing 
out  of  heavy  vapour  into  the  freshness  of  the  hill  tops,  to 
pass  away  from  Lot  to  think  of  Abraham.  From  the  hour 
he  left  his  ancient  country,  he  had  never  wavered.  His 
life  had  the  blessedness  of  the  continuity  of  goodness. 
Day  by  day  he  went  onward  towards  the  ideal.  He 
looked  for  a  city  that  had  foundations,  whose  builder  and 
maker  was  God.  Day  by  day  he  endured  hardness,  and 
his  soul  was  made  strong.  Day  by  day  he  grew  in  power 


154  The  Later  CJioicc  of  Life. 

and  in  gentleness.  God,  and  not  the  sickly  life  of  the 
cities,  dwelt  within  him.  Mighty  ideas  were  his,  and 
matchless  joys ;  and  the  stars  of  Heaven  were  more  vocal 
to  him  in  age  than  in  youth.  Life  was  simple  ;  yet,  it  had 
the  changes  in  it  of  noble  love,  of  a  heart  into  which 
flowed,  because  it  was  empty  of  self,  all  the  wonder  of  the 
universe. 

It  is  not  an  old  story  that  I  tell  you ;  it  is  a  story  of  to- 
day. The  life  of  Abraham  is  a  life  you  may  yourselves 
lead,  it  is  a  character  you  may  yourselves  possess.  But  to 
lead  the  life,  and  have  the  character,  you  must  give  up  the 
world. 


155 


[February  4,   1883.] 

FALSE  FERVOUR   OF  HEART. 

"  Fervent  in  spirit  ;  serving  the  Lord." — ROMANS  xii.  II. 

IN  a  society  so  full  of  opportunities  for  excitement  as 
ours  is  in  this  great  city,  and  where  the  culture  of  the 
feelings  has  gone  so  far  and  wandered  over  so  many 
strange  paths  ;  where  men  and  women  have  wearied  out 
so  much  of  life  that  they  are  either  quiet  from  lassitude  of 
experience,  or  excited  to  find  new  experiences  which  will 
kindle  fresh  desires  and  fresh  pleasure,  it  is  hard  to  draw 
the  line  between  noble  and  ignoble  excitement — between 
noble  and  ignoble  quietness ;  and  every  day  sees  persons 
who  impel  themselves,  or  permit  themselves,  into  extrava- 
gant and  erring  excitements — who,  curious  of  new  sensa- 
tions, seek  them  unwearily  ;  others  who,  wearied  with 
sensations  they  have  had,  or  afraid  to  have  sensational  li  e 
of  any  kind — vaguely  fearing  that  which  they  have  not 
experienced — either  sink  slowly  into  monotony  as  a  kind  of 
repose,  or  deliberately  choose  it  as  their  portion  because  it 
is  safe. 

It  may  not  be  without  use  to  analyze  a  portion  of  the 
life  of  such  fervent  characters  and  to  see  what  can  be  wisely 
said  about  it. 

There  are  those,  then,  who  cannot  bear  a  quiet  life,  or, 
rather,  a  life  which  is  not  always  moving,  either  without  or 


i 56  False  Fervour  of  Heart. 

within.  They  do  not  dislike  a  life  which  seems  quiet, 
provided  it  has  its  emotions  minute  by  minute.  They  do 
not  always  want  great  emotions,  but  they  do  want  them 
numberless  and  varied  if  they  are  not  great.  And  their 
habit  is  not  only  to  seek  them  eagerly  if  they  have  not  got 
them,  and  to  be  restless,  impatient,  indignant  without  them, 
but  also,  when  the  emotions  come  or  are  discovered,  to  fling 
themselves  wholly  into  them  ;  to  set  sail  the  moment  the 
wind  begins  to  blow,  and  to  clap  their  hands  with  joy  as 
they  round  the  pier  head,  and,  leaving  the  dull  harbour 
behind,  feel  the  waves  dancing  under  their  vessel,  and  an 
unknown  sea  before  them.  "  This  time,"  they  think,  "  they 
may  find  the  happy  isles,  and,  at  least,  there  is  life  in  the 
sea  and  wind  and  in  the  battle  with  the  storm."  What 
may  happen  is  nothing  to  them  !  Even  if  they  know  there 
is  danger  in  the  new  emotion  they  will  not  forecast  the 
danger,  or,  if  they  do,  it  has  its  own  charm.  Curiosity  is  so 
awake  that  it  seems  as  if  it  would  never  sleep  again, 
and  the  Unknown  lures  them  forward  with  irresistible 
witchery.  "  If  I  die,"  they  say,  "  I  die ;  but,  at  least, 
I  shall  have  had  my  day  !  If  others  are  injured  in  my 
impulse,  let  them  look  out  for  that !  I  am  not  their 
keeper  ;  and  if  they  are  happy  before  they  die,  or  before 
they  have  sorrow,  neither  sorrow  nor  death  will  matter  much 
to  them  !  " 

But  mostly  they  do  not  argue  or  think  thus — they  act 
without  thinking.  The  movement,  the  thrill,  the  pleasure 
of  each  moment  are  enough  for  them.  Away,  far  away, 
they  .  sail — fervent  in  spirit,  indeed — but  not  serving  the 
Lord  ! 


False  Fervour  of  Heart.  157 

Sometimes  they  are  fortunate,  when  the  impulse  happens 
— for  it  is  all  chance — to  be  a  good  one,  and  to  move  within 
the  sphere  of  natural*  morality  ;  but  just  as  often— and  far 
more  often,  indeed— they  are  shattered  or  wrecked,  or  they 
wreck  and  shatter  others.  The  impulse  towards  the  un- 
known, or  the  emotion  they  encourage,  either  happens  to 
be  wrong  or  holds  wrong  in  its  end.  If  it  be  wrong,  they 
find  themselves,  when  too  late,  in  the  midst  of  the  wrong 
and  fond  of  the  wrong.  Then,  even  though  they  see  the 
rocks,  they  rush  upon  them  rather  than  retreat.  It  may  be, 
they  think,  they  will  get  through  the  breakers  and  land  upon 
the  blissful  isle  ! 

Or  the  impulse,  in  itself  right  and  noble  at  first,  is 
changed  into  wrong  because  they  think  only  of  their 
own  pleasure  in  it,  and  not  of  the  nobleness  of  it.  And 
they  have  the  horror  at  the  end  of  finding  they  have  spoilt 
in  themselves  or  in  others  that  which  was  the  glory  and 
perfection  of  life,  turned  the  fine  gold  into  clay,  changed 
the  swift  summer  wind  into  a  tempest,  made  desolate  the 
garden  by  forcing  all  its  flowers  into  hurried  bloom ! 
That  is  a  dreadful  disenchantment ;  and,  after  it,  life  for  a 
time  is  shattered.  They  creep  back  to  the  harbour  like  a 
disabled  ship. 

Such  characters  and  such  things  are  common  enough, 
though  they  are  secret ;  and  half  of  the  complaints  of  life,  half 
the  idleness  of  society,  half  the  want  of  faith  in  God,  half 
the  irreligion  of  the  day  is  caused  by  these  uncurbed 
impulses ;  by  emotion  yielded  to  for  its  charm,  and  selfish 
because  it  is  thoughtless.  And  these  persons  are  dangerous 
to  themselves  and  dangerous  to  others,  because  the  swift  feel- 


158  False  Fervour  of  Heart. 

ing  and  keen  life  they  possess  and  give  are,  in  the  midst  of 
a  dull  society,  the  most  attractive  thing  in  the  world.  I 
am  inclined  to  say  that  this  reckless  fashion  of  living, 
of  yielding  in  a  moment  to  the  moment,  is  more  wicked 
and  does  more  harm,  than  guilt  which  all  the  world 
recognizes  as  guilt.  The  real  root  of  it  is  selfishness  of  a 
kind  which  seems  to  make  great  sacrifices ;  and  there  is 
nothing  so  dangerous  as  selfishness  which  wears  the  garb  of 
high  emotion  ;  which,  seeing  the  forbidden  fruit,  mistakes 
the  thrill  of  curiosity  and  the  rush  of  feeling  for  noble 
enthusiasm  and  lofty  love,  and  takes  it,  imagining,  "  This  is 
good  for  food  and  pleasant  to  the  eyes,  and  to  be  desired  to 
make  one  wise,  and  because  7  like  it,  it  will  be  good  for 
others,  and  pleasant  to  them,  and  will  make  them  wise." 
Thus,  these  fervent  characters  seem  to  care  for  and  to  think 
of  others,  but  yet  it  is  only  their  own  joy,  their  own  satisfac- 
tion, their  own  winning  of  their  goal  for  which  they  care  and 
of  which  they  think.  The  more  selfish  they  are,  the  more 
they  strive  to  convince  themselves  that  they  are  unselfish. 
It  is  the  sole  homage  that  they  pay  to  virtue  ! 

Of  course,  they  are  not  calculating  or  cold.  I  do  not 
speak  of  those  who  seek  excitement  and  who  do  not  run  its 
risks,  who  take  its  pleasures  but  keep  their  own  life  safe — 
not  of  those,  almost  the  vilest  of  mankind — but  of  those 
who  take  all  the  risks  ;  who  do  not  think  until  they  reach 
their  goal,  or  until  they  are  wrecked,  of  their  own  security 
or  their  own  danger,  and  who  are  so  far  unselfish.  These 
please  themselves  in  thinking  of  how  unselfish  they  have 
been — for  it  is  natural  to  dwell  on  and  see  what  is  good  ; 
but  truly  the  goodness  is  a  small  matter.  It  is  rather 


False  Fervour  of  Heart.  159 

not  goodness  at  all,  but  only  the  negation   of  the   worst 
evil. 

Well,  after  the  wild  sail  and  the  storm  are  over,  they 
return  all  but  wrecked,  exhausted,  shattered,  to  the  har- 
bour ;  often  leaving  behind  them  their  companions 
drowned  in  the  sea.  What  happens  then?  Many  things, 
and  many  are  the  phases  they  go  through,  according  to 
character  and  circumstances. 

First,  there  are  those  who  only  wait  to  refit  the  ship  to 
begin  again;  and  the  moment  they  are  rested,  and  have  gone 
through  their  remorse— which  only  lasts  as  long  as  they  are 
tired,  and  is,  in  fact,  neither  spiritual  nor  moral ;  that  is,  it 
has  no  leaning  even  towards  repentance,  but  is  only  physical 
—look  out  for  a  new  excitement,  whistle  for  a  new  wind, 
and  set  forth  on  a  new  voyage  to  face  a  new  storm  with  all 
their  ancient  recklessness.  In  fact,  after  a  month  or  two 
of  quiet,  life  is  intolerable  until  it  is  again  seeking  some  new 
excitement,  devouring  some  new  path  to  some  untried 
shore ;  and,  once  more  they  are  not  only  as  reckless  for 
themselves  as  in  the  past,  but  as  reckless  for  others  whom 
they  carry  with  them. 

And  so  they  lead  their  lives,  often  to  the  very  close,  until 
they  are  either  broken  to  pieces  on  the  high  seas  and  sink 
in  the  night,  or  until  decay  and  old  age  beset  them ;  and 
they  pass  on  to  the  grave,  tormented  by  the  memories  of 
pleasures  they  cannot  fulfil,  or  sitting  alone  by  the  fireside 
of  the  heart  where  all  their  life  lies  burnt  to  a  heap  of  dead 
ash,  and  opposite  them,  eye  to  eye,  and  always  silent,  their 
Fetch,  their  second  self,  watching  them  with  intolerable 
scorn,  and  often  rising  to  embrace  them,  and  smite  itself 


160  False  Fervour  of  Heart. 

into  them,  till  they  know  not  which  they  are,  themselves  or 
their  self-scorn.  That  is  a  pleasant  close  of  life ! 

(2.)  There  is  another  phase  of  return.  It  is  when, 
having  come  back  to  harbour,  they  eagerly  desire  to  sail 
away  again,  but  are  unable :  either  opportunity  fails,  or 
circumstances  tie  them  down,  or  they  are  restrained  by 
society.  Then  they  acquiesce  sulkily  in  the  fate  which 
fetters  them,  and  live  a  life  which  they  hate  and  which 
they  think  a  slavery,  though  the  lash  of  it  is  in  their  own 
hands,  and  laid  on  by  themselves.  They  are  quiet  enough 
to  the  outward  eye,  rarely  flashing  forth,  but  within,  the 
ceaseless  strain  abides,  the  ceaseless  anger  against  mono- 
tony, the  ceaseless  hatred  of  the  still  waters  of  the  haven, 
the  ceaseless  yearning  for  the  waves  and  the  wind,  and 
the  watch  upon  the  prow  for  the  undiscovered  isles  of  joy. 
They  will  not  turn  to  find  life  and  interest  in  the  present,  to 
work,  or  to  delight  in  the  peaceful,  simple,  common  things 
around  their  anchored  ship.  All  their  passion  is  in  the 
past,  except  that  which  in  the  present  desires,  in  thoughts 
by  day,  in  dreams  by  night,  to  repeat  the  past  in  another 
voyage.  Two  things  consume  that  life — the  secret, 
lonely,  down-pressed  longing,  and  that  which  is  the 
longing's  child — the  devouring  weariness  of  unexcited  life. 
There  are  hundreds  who  live  and  die  in  that  condition,  and 
the  only  good  to  be  said  of  it  is  negative — "  It  is  not 
apathy." 

(3.)  There  is  another  phase.  It  is  when  the  voyage  and 
the  storm  being  over,  the  ship  has  stolen  sheltered  into 
harbour,  and  the  owner  casts  anchor  with  a  sigh,  and  never 
wishes  again  to  tempt  the  deep.  These  are  they  who  do 


False  Fervour  of  Heart.  161 

not  go  forth  again,  not  because  they  repent  of  wrong,  but 
because  they  have  no  desire  left,  and  no  courage.  They 
fear  the  wind  and  the  waves,  or  they  are  drained  dry. 
"Ask  me  no  more,"  they  say:  "give  me  the  still  repose; 
even  sleep,  if  I  may  rest  from  tossing;  even  monotony — 
day  after  day  the  same,  no  trouble;  minute  sliding  into 
minute,  hour  into  hour,  the  same  soft  quiet  things  always ; 
and  if  stagnation  come — well,  I  can  endure  it  better  than 
the  tempest." 

That  is  very  easy  to  ask  for,  but  it  is  not  so  easy  to 
attain.  For  the  natures  which  ask  for  it  are  not  capable 
of  monotony  ;  and  if  the  day  be  given  to  self-quiet,  to 
slumbrous  ease ;  if  it  be  not  filled  with  duties  which  take 
them  out  of  themselves,  and  waken  and  kindle  love  and 
work  for  others — they  begin  to  brood.  The  memories  of  past 
delight,  past  excitement,  past  hours  when  they  rode  upon 
the  crest  of  the  wave  come  thronging  back,  without  their 
pain,  without  their  dismay,  without  their  danger — and, 
therefore,  without  a  certain  redeeming  quality — and  weave 
their  enchantment  round  them  :  and  they  live  in  them,  unable 
to  work  because  of  their  thraldom ;  restless  as  a  wild  beast 
in  his  den  ;  wholly  enslaved  by  them — yet  all  the  time 
knowing  that  they  dare  not  seek  them  again;  that  they  would 
not,  if  they  had  the  chance ;  that  they  have  no  energy  left  to 
set  sail  and  bear  away  over  the  deep — enchanting  themselves 
with  impalpable  dreams,  and  despising  themselves  because 
the  dreams  are  impalpable;  and  sunk  in  self  contempt 
deeper  and  deeper  still,  because  they  fear  to  realize  their 
visions,  and  yet  are  enslaved  to  the  imagining  of  them. 
They  have  all  the  evil  of  their  imaginations,  and  none  of 


1 62  False  Fervour  of  Heart. 

their  good  ;  all  the  death  and  corruption  of  them,  and  none 
of  the  movement  and  life  of  their  reality  ;  all  the  unhinging 
thought  without  the  kindling  effort ;  all  the  hunger  and 
thirst  and  craving,  without  one  grain  of  food,  one  drop  of 
water — soaking  day  by  day  into  themselves,  consumed  like 
a  rag  in  an  acid ;  eaten  away  by  inward  scorn  ;  made  vile 
by  fear,  and  useless  by  sloth,  until  they  rot  to  death  at 
anchor  in  a  stagnant  sea.  It  is  a  dreadful  fate  ;  and  though 
it  is  always  silent,  and  therefore  unknown,  it  is  the  most 
common  of  those  of  which  I  speak. 

These  are  the  phases — and  they  belong  to  those  who  are 
fervent  in  spirit,  or  have  been  in  the  beginning — but  who  are 
not  serving  the  Lord.  They  are  serving  self,  pleasure,  ex- 
citement, sloth,  their  own  will.  And  if  they  would  escape, 
they  need  to  make  a  mighty  effort,  and  to  call  on  God  to  be 
their  helper.  It  will  not  do  for  them,  with  this  fervent 
temper,  to  fight  with  these  desires  face  to  face,  as  we  fight 
with  enemies,  for  the  fighting  with  them  is  thinking  of  them, 
keeping  with  them  ;  and  even  when  we  beat  them  down, 
their  face  is  too  fair  for  us  to  lift  the  sword  to  slay  them.  On 
the  contrary,  we  lift  them  from  the  ground  in  pity  and  in 
love.  They  are  dearer  than  before,  and  we  are  enslaved 
again.  There  is  but  one  way  ;  it  is  to  replace  them  by  other 
and  nobler  passions,  which,  while  they  kindle  equally,  and 
need  as  keen  a  pursuit,  do  not  exhaust  themselves  or  exhaust 
us,  but  grow  more  kindling  as  they  are  better  known,  and 
bring  with  them  a  fire  which  does  not  burn  away.  The 
excitements  of  earth  lash  us  from  without  into  speed,  and 
while  our  power  lasts,  the  speed  is  joy  ;  but  the  joy  passes 
with  the  power,  and  leaves  us  weak  and  cold.  The  excite- 


False  Fervour  of  Heart.  1 63 

merits  of  Heaven  rise  within  us  in  a  well  of  life,  and  the  more 
they  rise,  the  more  desire  they  have  to  spring  upwards.  The 
joy  they  bring  is  sweeter  and  fresher  the  more  we  drink  of 
it.  They  have  the  powers  of  their  own  life,  and  they  keep 
us  strong  and  warm  of  heart.  It  is  only  these  divine 
passions  that  drive  out  earthly  passions  which  are  wrong,  or 
wrong-bringing  ;  and  they  drive  them  out  by  replacing  them. 
The  soul  is  not  left  empty,  swept,  and  garnished ;  it  is  filled 
and  contented. 

Would  you  conquer,  you  must  win  a  conscious  love  of 
God,  passionate  desire  to  be  His  child  in  goodness  and  love, 
in  purity  and  truth.  There  is  no  hope  of  rest  until  you 
know  nothing  in  heaven  or  earth  so  dear  as  to  see  His  smile 
of  approval  and  to  hear  His  voice  in  your  hearts,  until  you 
work  out  your  love  of  God  in  love  of  man,  and  have  as  much 
passion  in  giving  up  your  self  as  you  had  before  in  satisfying 
it.  There  is  no  chance  of  salvation  from  the  tyranny  of 
your  self-will  until  you  set  body,  soul,  and  spirit,  pulling 
together  mightily,  into  your  work,  with  the  old  eagerness,  the 
old  pursuit,  the  old  impossibility  of  sloth,  the  old  delight  in 
looking  forward,  hour  by  hour,  to  see  the  undiscovered  land. 
Give  the  effort  all  your  powers;  invent  new  means,  dis- 
cover new  plans,  realize  new  hopes  by  putting  them  into 
form,  conceive  new  faiths  for  man,  and  act  up  to  your  faith, 
and  work  on  men  for  God  your  Father,  who,  with  you, 
desires  their  life  ;  and  for  Christ  your  Master,  who,  with  you, 
dies  that  man  may  live.  Then  you  will  escape.  But  it 
is  no  easy  matter.  Indeed,  it  needs  a  desperate  effort ; 
and  were  it  not  that  we  are  not  left  to  ourselves  to  make 
it,  but  that  there  is  One  that  works  with  us  in  love,  and 

L  2 


164  False  Fej-vour  of  Heart. 

causes  us  to  feel  His  love,  and  who  secures  to  us  the 
strength  which,  by  an  unchanging  law,  is  the  fruit  of  every 
effort  towards  right  which  is  made  with  truthfulness,  we 
might  well  despair,  so  silently  fierce,  and  so  long  protracted 
is  the  struggle  out  of  passionate  self-will  into  the  sacrifice  of 
self  to  righteousness,  and  into  joy  in  the  sacrifice.  Every 
atom  of  force  in  us  will  have  to  be  given  to  the  winning  of 
love  of  things  which  have  nothing  to  do  with  that  which  we 
loved  of  old,  but  which  demand  its  surrender  as  the  first  con- 
dition of  their  love.  It  is  that  surrender  which  is  inevitable, 
and  it  is  that  which,  for  a  time,  makes  the  effort  almost  un- 
endurable. There  must  be  no  relaxation  of  watchfulness  ; 
daily,  hourly,  minute  by  minute,  the  soul  must  stand  to  its 
arms.  All  things  which  soften  or  relax  the  heart  must  be 
put  away;  even  innocent  and  beautiful  things,  until  they 
come  with  the  new  life  and  not  with  the  old  within  them  ; 
all  past  associations,  until  there  is  no  fatal  tenderness 
about  them.  We  must  die,  and  be  buried,  that  we  may 
rise  again. 

Above  all,  we  must  not  despair  if  at  first  we  fail  again 
and  again.  Courage  and  hope  are  ours  in  God,  and  despair 
is  the  meanest  and  vilest  vice  of  man.  Soon,  if  we  pray 
and  work  we  shall  gain  contempt  of  pain,  and  before  long 
the  struggle  will  begin  to  please.  The  old  joy  of  the  waves 
and  winds  will  rise,  and  the  old  excitement  kindle  and 
rejoice  the  heart ;  but  that  excitement  is  now  concerned 
with  conquering  sin,  and  claiming  and  finding  righteous- 
ness— and  it  endures.  There  is  no  exhaustion,  but  hourly 
increasing  power ;  and,  as  before,  with  the  same  rapture, 
but  with  how  different  a  goal,  we  stand  upon  the  prow  of  the 


False  Fervour  of  Heart. 


165 


ship  of  life,  eagerly  looking  forward  to  the  happy  days,  now 
almost  at  hand,  when  we  shall  have  won  freedom  from  evil, 
pure  light,  rejoicing  love,  union  with  mankind,  communion 
undisturbed  with  God ;  at  last,  at  last,  a  life  impassioned 
for  things  which  neither  exhaust  nor  wreck  the  heart,  nor 
in  themselves  decay.  "  Fervent  in  spirit,  yet  serving  the 
Lord." 


1 66 


[February  II,  1883.] 

THE  FERVOUR   THAT  SEEKS  MONOTONY. 
"  Fervent  in  spirit ;  serving  the  Lord." — ROMANS  xii.  n. 

THERE  are  those  in  this  stirring  world  who  are  by  nature 
quiet,  and  who  prefer  the  quiet  life.  They  do  not  know 
the  impulses  which  beset  those  who  are  fervent  in  spirit,  nor 
what  it  is  to  feel  that  in  the  space,  as  it  were,  of  a  moment, 
1  they  are  swept  out  of  the  harbour  into  the  wild  sea,  and  feel 
the  gale  blowing  in  their  heart.  Their  life,  when  it  moves, 
only  rocks  at  its  anchorage.  Day  after  day,  hour  after  hour, 
it  is  much  the  same  ;  the  same  duties  are  done  in  the  same 
way,  the  same  hours  kept,  the  same  thoughts  considered  and 
feelings  felt,  from  morn  to  night.  They  know,  when  they 
wake,  all  they  will  do  and  probably  think  of  throughout  the 
day  ;  and  it  is  only  when  some  shock  of  fortune,  or  illness,  or 
bereavement  comes,  that  the  calm  of  their  life  is  broken. 
And  the  quiet  suits  them,  and  they  suit  the  quiet.  Such  a 
life  may  be  a  happy  one,  and  is  often  very  happy  ;  but  it  has 
one  possible  evil,  or,  shall  I  say,  one  temptation.  It  may 
become  lazy ;  and  the  fruit  of  laziness  is  monotony ;  and 
monotony,  endurable  in  youth,  becomes  a  source  of  disease 
in  later  years  and  in  old  age.  And  the  moment  it  is  felt  as 
disease,  the  quiet  comfort  of  the  life  is  over.  It  gnaws  at 
our  heart,  and  we  become  uneasy,  nervous,  troubled,  not 
knowing  what  to  make  of  ourselves,  or  what  to  do  with  our- 


The  Fervour  that  sctks  Monotony.  167 

selves.  We  are  like  a  living  ship  which  should  feel  the  dry 
rot  in  its  timbers,  and  dreads  the  day  when  it  will  sink,  all 
standing,  at  its  anchorage.  There  are  two  ends  which  may 
come  upon  us  then ;  one  is  the  increase  of  self-dread,  self- 
irritation,  until  life  is  unbearable;  and  the  other  is  the 
passing  through  the  irritation  to  the  other  side  of  it,  into  a 
dead  apathy ;  and  I  know  not  which  is  the  worse. 

There  is  no  need  of  such  an  end  ;  it  can  be  kept  at  bay. 
The  quiet  life  may  remain  usefully,  happily,  gently  quiet  to 
the  end;  and  the  heart  live,  sufficiently  stirred  not  to  become 
stagnant,  and  having  the  beauty  of  quietude — the  sunset 
lights,  rosy  and  of  peaceful  pearl,  around  the  harboured 
ship,  when  all  the  world  and  we  are  old.  But  to  gain 
this  sweet  peace  and  gentle  joy,  we  must  prepare  our  hearts, 
if  we  are  of  this  quiet  temper,  towards  this  end.  It  will  not 
come  of  itself;  and  what  we  must  do  is  the  same — with 
modifications  which  our  own  character  will  naturally  make 
— as  those  who  are  fervent  in  spirit,  but  who  choose  the 
quiet  life,  will  have  to  do.  Both  these — the  quiet  and  the 
ardent  who  want  to  be  quiet — need  a  similar  preparation  for 
the  end  of  life.  What  that  preparation  is,  and  its  method, 
will  be  the  subject  of  my  next  sermon.  Meanwhile,  I  must 
describe  those  ardent  hearts  who  outwardly  resemble  those 
that  are  quiet,  who  even  seem  monotonous  because  they 
resolutely  repress  their  fervour,  who  either  determine  to  choose 
the  quiet  life,  or  are  forced  into  it  by  circumstances. 

These  can  never  be  really  monotonous.  I  do  not  say  that 
they  are  not  often  forced  into  an  outer  life  of  monotony.  Oi 
course  they  are ;  and  there  are  few  trials  deeper  in  the 
world  than  those  the  fervent  spirit  endures  from  the  fetters 


1 68  The  Fervour  that  seeks  Monotony. 

of  a  prisoned  life.  But  prison  it  in  circumstances  as  you 
please,  it  is  not  monotonous  within  !  Nay,  often  the  storm 
is  all  the  wilder  within,  because  it  cannot  get  forth  and  spend 
itself  in  expression, 

I  have  spoken  of  those  who  burst  through  their  barriers, 
or  who,  having  no  barriers,  let  themselves  loose,  and, 
in  reckless  self-abandonment,  or  in  useless  hopelessness 
and  barren  longing  after  self-abandonment,  lost  the  fruits 
and  good  of  life — of  the  fervent  in  spirit  who  would  not 
serve  the  Lord ! 

To-day  I  speak  of  those  who,  though  -  ardent  in  heart,  are 
not  reckless,  who  neither  wreck  themselves  nor  others,  and 
who,  in  this  self-repression,  run  into  other  dangers — danger 
of  idleness,  danger  of  apathy,  danger  of  loss  of  the  ideal, 
danger  of  evil  sadness. 

i.  There  are  those — fervent  in  spirit — on  whom  a  life  of 
monotony  is  not  enforced,  but  who  seek  it  because  it  is  safe. 
Their  motive  is  to  guard  themselves.  They  select  circum- 
stances which  bring  no  disturbance  with  them ;  they  make 
modes  of  daily  action  which  have  no  excitement ;  they  put 
aside  books,  art,  poetry,  music — anything  that  stirs  and 
thrills  the  nerves  or  the  sleeping  love  of  excitement  in  them. 
They  shut  all  the  windows  of  the  heart  and  let  their  in- 
tellect act  alone. 

It  is  very  well,  and  sometimes  it  succeeds  if  the  will  be 
strong,  and  if  these  persons  can  always  guard  against  the 
rush  of  circumstance.  But  the  motive  is  not  the  right  one 
nor  is  the  self-treatment  they  pursue  prudent  or  right. 
The  motive,  being  for  self-safety  only,  keeps  them  locked 
up  with  themselves,  whereas  their  only  true  safety  is  in 


The  Fervour  tliat  seeks  Monotony.  169 

being  fervent  in  love  of  others,  so  as  to  lose  self-thought 
altogether.  The  self-treatment  they  pursue  only  battens 
down  the  fervent  spirit  under  hatches;  and,  in  the  imprison- 
ment, ardour  of  heart  loses  self-command  and  changes  slowly 
its  good  into  evil.  It  needs  the  open  air,  needs  to  be  drilled 
and  exercised  into  obedience  to  righteous  will,  and  in  free 
movement;  needs  not  to  be  crushed,  but  to  be  directed 
rightly ;  not  to  be  left  untrained,  but  to  be  educated ; 
not  to  be  imprisoned  and  beaten  down,  but  to  be  exalted 
by  noble  motives  and  filled  with  righteous  eagerness. 
Otherwise,  it  remains  as  wild  as  if  no  trouble  had  been 
taken  with  it,  and  is  more  wild  than  it  was  when  its 
possessor  was  young  —  nay,  often  it  is  maddened  by 
imprisonment.  And  then,  if  a  crisis  should  come,  if 
circumstance  should  dash  open  the  doors  of  the  heart 
and  let  the  prisoner  free,  there  has  been  no  safety  secured. 
The  ardent  nature  issues  forth,  reckless  from  confinement, 
and,  since  it  has  had  no  education,  and  gained  no  principles 
of  love  of  others,  and  is  furnished  with  no  lofty  and  im- 
passionating  motives  of  the  nobler  kind,  it  avenges  itself, 
seizes  on  the  whole  man  or  woman,  and  the  ruin  and  the 
shipwreck  are  worse  even  than  of  those  who  had  never  been 
cautious,  never  sought  for  safety.  And  thereof  come,  in  the 
end,  burning  remorse,  hatred  of  the  wrong-doing,  and  hatred 
even  deeper  of  the  old  life  of  peace.  The  whole  of  life  is  as 
if  a  fire  had  passed  over  it ! 

2.  There  are  others  of  these  ardent  spirits  who  choose  to 
make  their  life  monotonous  in  another  fashion.  They  make 
no  effort,  they  are  satisfied  to  do  nothing,  and  think  of 
nothing.  They  determine  to  love  nothing,  to  give  them- 


170  The  Fervour  tJiat  seeks  Monotony. 

selves  away  to  nothing.  "  Let  me  keep  my  soul  un- 
occupied," they  say,  "  my  heart  empty  ;  so  shall  I  be  freed 
from  the  great  peril  of  thinking  of  myself,  of  wondering  how 
I  shall  be  more  happy,  of  caring  for  anything,  of  indulging 
in  any  curiosity.  I  will  lay  the  oars  in  the  boat,  shut  my 
eyes,  and  drift  with  the  stream,  and  my  sleep  shall  be  with- 
out dreams.  As  to  the  day,  let  trifles  fill  it,  the  froth  of  life 
— nothing  which  can  stay  me  a  moment,  nothing  which  I 
need  do  more  than  touch,  and  while  I  touch  despise." 

There  are  soulless  persons  who  can  so  live  always  ; 
without  a  heart,  without  a  brain,  dim  zoophytes  of  men 
and  women ;  but  they  are  not  these  of  whom  we  speak. 
These  have  the  ardent  heart ;  have  will,  if  they  choose  to 
realize  it ;  have  a  soul,  if  they  would  not  starve  it ;  might 
fill  their  life  brimful  with  emotions,  thoughts,  and  actions,  if 
they  would,  and  make  it  populous  with  humanity.  But 
they  choose  the  other  line  of  conduct — choose  to  have 
their  house  of  life  empty,  swept  and  garnished.  What  is 
their  fate?  It  is  wholly  impossible  that  they  should  go  on 
in  this  way  for  long.  They  cannot  bear  emptiness,  and  if 
they  will  not  fill  their  heart  with  divine  and  noble  love, 
with  sweet  and  glorious  effort,  with  the  laughter  and  joy, 
the  sorrow  and  pity  of  humanity,  with  all  the  angel-graces 
which  excite  without  exhausting — why,  we  have  the  wisdom 
of  Christ  to  tell  us  what  will  happen.  Seven  devils  come 
and  dwell  in  this  house  of  life,  and  the  last  state  of  that  man 
is  worse  than  the  first.  It  is  at  your  greatest  peril,  if  you 
are  fervent  in  spirit,  that  you  leave  your  heart  empty,  your 
soul  unimpelled,  your  life  without  work,  your  brain  un- 
peopled. It .  is  an  invitation  to  evil  ;  and  evil  is  sure  to 


The  Fervoitr  that  seeks  Monotony.  171 

enter  in  and  fill  the  unfurnished  lodgings.  And  when, 
and  how,  you  will  get  the  evil  lodgers  out,  none  but 
God  can  tell. 

3.  There  is  yet  another  character,  wiser,  better  far,  but 
still  failing  to  get  the  good  of  its  ardour ;  which,  because  it 
knows  its  own  ardency  and  its  danger,  deliberately  chooses 
what  is  called  monotony.  But  the  monotony  is  not  chosen 
only  for  the  sake  of  safety  (though  that  element  does  enter 
into  the  decision) ;  nor  is  it  chosen  in  the  midst  of  idleness 
and  drifting.  These  characters  dread  excitement,  and  with 
good  reason,  for  they  know  not  whither  they  may  be  carried ! 
Now  and  again  they  taste  excitement,  and  the  taste  pleases 
while  it  terrifies.  They  know  what  would  be  the  pleasure  of 
the  gale  and  the  rushing  voyage,  but  they  cling  the  more  to 
harbour.  "Let  me  always  keep  my  anchor  down,"  they 
say,  "  and  my  sails  furled ;  were  I  to  lift  the  anchor,  and 
spread  the  sail,  were  the  wind  from  the  land  to  blow 
joyously,  and  fill  the  sail,  I  could  not  resist  the  freshening 
blast,  I  should  forget  all  things  for  the  sea.  Therefore,  I 
rest  in  my  place.  The  wind  may  blow,  but  I  will  never 
unfurl  the  sail.  Yet  I  will  not  rest  in  idleness.  I  will  find 
things  to  do,  and  think,  and  feel.  I  will  work  for  men 
and  women,  and  help  them  through  life ;  I  will  make  the 
lives  of  others  bright ;  I  will  crowd  the  day  from  end  to  end 
with  labour ;  I  know  the  laws  which  regulate  my  life,  and  I 
will  obey  them.  Though  my  ship  is  at  anchor,  I  will  visit 
every  other  ship  in  the  harbour,  and  bring  them  what  good 
I  can ;  I  will  receive  into  my  ship  all  that  come  and  give 
them  all  I  can — always  provided  nothing  I  do,  or  say,  or 
feel,  puts  a  light  to  the  pile  of  firewood  in  the  heart  of 


1/2  The  Fervour  that  seeks  Monotony. 

the  ship;  for,    once   kindled,    it   would   blaze   as   high  as 
heaven." 

This  is  good,  so  far  as  it  goes,  and  many  a  fervent  heart 
lives  by  this  effort  to  the  end  in  useful  security.  But  such  a 
life  has,  first,  its  own  danger ;  and,  secondly,  it  is  hampered 
by  the  repression  of  its  most  living  qualities. 

(1)  It   has  its  danger,  for   there  is  always   danger — no 
matter  how  much  work  you  may  give  yourself — if  you  leave 
one  part  of  your  nature  unsatisfied.     Its  hunger  and  thirst 
may  become,  you  cannot  tell  when,  too  great  to  be  borne  ; 
and  hunger  and  thirst,  in  their  extremes,  do  not  reason,  or 
wait,  but  rush  upon  their  food.     You  have  no  business  to 
make    life    wholly   monotonous    even    though   it    be   the 
monotony   of    work,    for   the   power   in   you   which   hates 
monotony  will  burst  through  its  barriers,  unless  you  give  it 
something  to  think  of,  to  love,  and  to  act  upon.     It  is  too 
perilous  for  you  to  live  always  in  the  common-place  ;  and 
work   done   only   for   duty's  sake,  and  not  with  joy,   and 
charm,  and  passion  in  it,  is  good  for  others,  but  it  is  not 
enough  for  you.     And  since  it  is  not  enough,  it  has  these 
dangers.     They  may  never  come,  but  they  are  there 

(2)  There  is  another  mistake  in  this  life.     It  has  but  little 
joy,    and   less  excitement  in  its  work.     Nay,  it  keeps  the 
work,  by  choice,  monotonous.     It  does  not  allow  too  much 
feeling,  too  much  fervour ;  it  keeps  within  the  limits  of  the 
excellent  commonplace  ;  nay,  it  strives  to  love  the  common- 
place, and  says  that  it  needs  no  special  joy,  for  joy  would 
make  it  discontented  with  the  sober  corn  and  oil  of  life. 
"  Here,  in  my  daily  round  and  common  task,  among  the  old 
and  the  well-known,  here  I  will  abide  and  be  content ;  I 


The  Fervour  that  seeks  Monotony.  173 

know  it  is  monotonous ;  I  know  it  is  not  enchanted  land  ; 
but  I  will  expect  and  seek  no  more." 

Yes,  that  is  very  well  if  it  could  always  be.  But  the  soul 
that  says  it,  regrets  it  while  it  says  it;  and  the  time  will 
come — because  it  has  crushed,  and  not  exalted,  the  fervent 
quality  which  God  gave  it  to  use — when  it  will  pity  itself, 
and  feel  that  half  of  life  has  gone  to  waste,  that  all  has  not 
been  made  of  the  nature  given  by  God ;  and — the  self-pity 
will  be  true.  For  when  the  heart  is  capable  of  joy,  it  ought 
to  find  joy — pure  and  noble  joy,  but  still  joy ;  not  the  pale 
shadow  of  it  alone  that  the  choosers  of  monotonous  work 
make  believe  that  they  possess.  When  the  soul  is  capable 
of  fine  and  high  excitement — that  excitement  for  fitly 
beautiful  and  glorious  things  which  kindles  every  feeling 
into  swift  life  and  into  rapidity  of  action  that  stimulates 
others — it  falls  below  itself  when  it  never  realizes  that  of 
which  it  is  capable.  When  the  soul  can  shape  its  ideals,  it 
is  sure — if  it  does  not  try  to  shape  them,  to  have  the 
rapture  of  creating,  and  of  kindling  others  through  creation 
— to  seek  and  find  unworthiness,  and  to  realize  it.  To 
lose  these  things  and  their  powers  in  a  life  which  selects 
work  which  is  monotonous — work  which  is  not  loved  with 
joy,  but  done  through  dim  fear,  or  through  a  sense  of  law 
alone,  or  to  escape  from  a  more  drear  monotony,  or  to  hide 
oneself  from  thought,  or  to  occupy  the  room  of  feeling — is 
to  lose  the  greater  and  the  nobler  half  of  yourself.  You 
were  made  to  live  the  life  of  the  lark,  half  your  time  singing 
at  Heaven's  gate  in  joy  that  gives  joy  to  all  the  world 
beneath,  and  half  your  time  in  the  joy  of  the  nest  below — 
and  you  have  chosen  the  life  of  the  barn-door  fowl — 


1/4  The  Fervour  that  seeks  Monotony. 

excellent,  but  not  all  you  might  have  been.  And  the  end 
is,  that  one  day  you  will  say,  with  infinite  self-pity,  and 
those  who  know  you  will  think  it  pitiful  also — "  I  am  not 
myself:  I  never  have  been  myself.  Half  the  world  I  have 
within  is  barren  rock,  and  it  might  have  been  covered  with 
woods  and  wild  flowers,  and  musical  with  streams.  I  have 
been  useful,  but  I  have  been  mechanical,  and  I  fear  that 
mechanical  toil  gives  no  impulse  to  others.  I  have,  I 
trust,  done  good  to  men,  but  I  am  not  sure.  I  have  not 
loved  my  work  with  my  whole  heart,  and  the  want  of 
ardour  in  it,  ardour  of  love,  has  prevented  it  from  kindling 
others.  He  only  who  is  aflame,  inflames." 

This  is  a  sorrowful  ending.  And  its  worst  sorrow  is  when 
life,  in  that  sorrow,  becomes  like  a  frozen  lake :  glittering, 
having  its  own  beauty,  but  smooth  and  cold.  The  living 
soul  is,  indeed,  deep  down  beneath  where  the  waters  are  not 
frozen,  but  there  is  no  chance  any  more  on  earth  of  the 
warm  waves  breaking  through !  At  last,  death  comes, 
.and  the  ice-covered  soul  is  let  loose. 

All  these  ways  of  meeting  the  dangers  and  the  difficulties 
of  an  ardent  spirit  either  wholly  fail,  or  only  partly  succeed ; 
and  they  fail  because  they  one  and  all  strive  to  crush, 
ignore,  or  leave  uneducated  an  integral  part  of  character. 
Natural  character  cannot  be  crushed  :  if  you  try  to  crush  it, 
it  avenges  itself  in  the  end,  and  out  of  that  comes  your 
punishment.  But  it  can  be  recognized,  accepted,  and  nobly 
developed.  And  in  that  method  lies  your  true  salvation. 
You  can  be  fervent  in  spirit — and  serving  the  Lord. 

And  now  that  I  have  described  those  quiet  characters  to 
•whom  monotonous  life  is  natural,  and  who  need  to  bring 


The  Fervour  that  seeks  Monotony.  175 

forth  into  life  and  nourish  such  seeds  of  fervour  as  may  lie 
hid  within  them — and  those  who  being  fervent  choose  the 
monotonous  life,  but  within  whom  hidden  ardour  flings  its 
trailers  as  wildly  as  the  woodbine — it  is  time  to  inquire  what 
kind  is  the  self-education  which  both  these  types  of  char- 
acter, whose  outward  life  is  similar,  are  bound  to  give  them- 
selves. What  are  they  to  do  ? 

One  principle  is  enough  to  lay  down  at  present. 
There  is  nothing  in  human  nature  which  ought  to  be 
neglected,  imprisoned,  despised,  or  enslaved ;  no  matter 
what  dangers  it  may  threaten,  or  what  trouble  it  may 
give  you ;  and  if  you  attempt  this  kind  of  work,  there  will 
be  rebellion  :  the  enslaved  or  repressed  quality  will  revolt 
and  claim  its  rights.  You  may  then  crush  it  out,  but  what 
have  you  done?  You  have  maimed  yourself.  Least  of 
all,  is  ardour,  fervency  of  nature,  to  be  beaten  down. 
For  it  is  the  quality  which,  nobly  trained,  gives  life  and 
beauty  to  all  the  rest. 

That  is  the  negative  declaration  of  the  principle.  The 
positive  form  of  it  is  this  :  Every  quality  of  human  nature — 
and  among  these  none  is  nobler  than  ardour  of  heart — is 
not  to  be  allowed  to  run  wild  like  a  street  Arab — but  to  be 
reverenced,  and  used  as  a  trust  and  gift  from  God  ;  and, 
therefore,  to  be  educated,  taught  its  methods,  developed  into 
perfection  through  self-temperance  ;  trained  to  do  its  own 
special  work  within  those  limits  in  which  it  grows  most 
nobly  and  swiftly  ;  made  to  see  that  its  highest  aim  is  not  to 
please  itself,  but  to  be  a  helper  of  the  other  qualities,  in 
order  that,  altogether,  the  whole  assemblage  of  them  may 
serve  God,  and  do  good  to  man  ;  wrought  into  a  free  and 


176  The  Fervour  that  seeks  Monotony. 

loving  servant  of  a  righteous  will;  and  every  fibre  of  it 
supplied  with  food  so  that  it  may  reach  its  full  power  and  do 
its  full  work.  It  is  not  restraint  then  that  fervour  of  spirit 
originally  wants  ;  it  is  high,  loving,  righteous,  and  active 
development.  That  is  the  principle,  and  it  is  contained 
in  the  words  of  the  Apostle :  "  Fervent  in  spirit  ;  serving 
the  Lord.''* 


177 

[February  18,  1883.] 

THE  EDUCATION  OF  FERVOUR    OF  SPIRIT. 
"  Fervent  in  spirit ;  serving  the  Lord." — ROMANS  xii.  1 1. 

I  HAVE  spoken  of  the  dangers  which  beset  the  quiet  in 
spirit  from  their  tendency  to  apathy ;  and  of  those  which 
beset  the  fervent  in  spirit  from  their  endeavour  to  imprison 
their  fervour,  or  to  let  it  loose  without  restraint ;  and  I  said 
that  I  would  try  to  show  how  these  dangers  could  be  dis- 
persed or  changed.  The  same  principle  is  valid  for  both, 
though  the  quiet  spirit  will  apply  it  in  one  way,  and  the 
fervent  in  another. 

That  principle  is  this  : — No  natural  quality  is  to  be 
repressed,  but  is  to  be  educated.  It  is  not  by  coercion,  but 
by  the  development  into  fulness  of  being  of  every  essential 
quality  of  our  nature  that  we  can  govern  justly  the  little 
republic  within  us.  Therefore,  I  say  to  those  who  love 
the  quiet  life — Give  your  nature  liberty,  let  quietude  have 
her  perfect  work ;  but  if  it  run  towards  evil — that  is,  towards 
apathy  or  sloth — meet  that  difficulty,  not  by  checking  the 
quality  itself,  but  by  educating  other  powers  in  your  nature 
which  will  balance  it,  and  which,  being  developed,  will 
strengthen  and  ennoble  quietude.  Apathy,  sloth  are  really 
quietude  weakened,  not  developed  ;  quietude  changing  into 
helplessness,  not  rising  into  intelligence  of  itself,  and  into 
capacity  for  using  its  powers. 

M 


178         The  Education  of  Fervour  of  Spirit. 

The  true  method  of  action  has  a  different  result. 
There  is  sure  to  be,  in  all  quiet  natures,  a  little  ardour 
somewhere ;  a  capacity,  however  small,  for  strong  loving 
and  impassioned  action  at  some  one  point ;  a  power  of 
aspiration,  and  for  eager  pursuit  after  at  least  one  ideal. 
This  undeveloped  power  may  be  hid  in  some  recess  within 
your  soul,  but  if  you  seek  for  it  you  will  find  it.  Bring  the 
shy  thing  forth  ;  put  it  into  situations  in  which  it  must  speak, 
must  act ;  encourage  it  to  love  and  to  be  eager ;  find  out 
what  aspiration  kindles  it,  what  ideal  excites  it — and  develop 
it.  This  will  give  you  some  trouble,  for  the  quiet  man  is 
naturally  lazy,  and  his  first  failures  are  likely  to  induce 
what  he  calls  despair ;  but  half  the  happiness  of  your  man- 
hood depends  on  your  making  some  exertion  of  this  kind ; 
and  all  the  noble  happiness  of  your  old  age. 

The  moment  this  little  quality,  now  roused  into  activity, 
begins  to  move  within  you,  its  action  will  modify  your 
quietude,  and  supply  it  with  exactly  that  companion,  which, 
without  lessening  its  good,  will  hinder  it  from  ever  sliding 
into  sloth,  or  drowning  itself  in  apathy. 

2.  The  same  method  is  to  be  used  with  regard  to  fervour 
of  spirit.  Do  not  be  ashamed  of  it,  do  not  repress  it  so 
that  it  shall  not  speak  ;  give  it  free  course ;  set  it  to  breathe 
the  full  air  of  heaven  where  it  may  act  and  glow.  But  lest 
it  should  lead  you  into  danger,  search  for  those  qualities  in 
you  which  will  modify  and  ennoble  its  actions.  There  is 
sure  to  be  somewhere  in  you  some  love  of  quietude,  of  the 
fair  and  gentle  things  which  grow  out  of  calm,  and  are  only 
to  be  enjoyed  in  calm.  Educate  and  give  food  to  these 
qualities.  They  will  not  imprison  or  silence  ardour,  but  they 


The  Education  of  Fervour  of  Spirit.          179 

will,  by  living  with  it,  add  to  its  life  such  elements  as  will 
soften  its  wildness,  and  set  bounds  to  its  extravagance. 

There  is  sure  to  be  also  in  you  some  love  of  temperance, 
of  that  noble  quality  which  is  the  girdle  of  all  the  virtues. 
Indeed,  the  extravagance  into  which  ardour  often  runs, 
suggests  and  creates,  in  hours  of  exhaustion,  the  desire  and 
the  reality  of  temperance.  Develop  this  quality ;  make  it 
one  of  the  powers  of  the  soul ;  be  watchful  till  it  is 
possessed  ;  and  then  temperance;  living  side  by  side  with 
ardour,  will  not,  as  you  might  think,  lessen  the  heat  of 
ardour,  but  increase  it  through  concentration.  Heat  will 
not  be  dissipated,  and  is  never  dissipated  by  temperance  in 
the  things  done.  It  is  made  white  hot.  And  the  work 
which  is  done  by  ardour  married  to  temperance  is  the  most 
suggestive,  the  most  kindling,  and  the  loveliest  which  is 
accomplished,  in  the  arts,  in  politics,  in  science,  in  social 
movements,  and  in  religion.  In  this  way  it  will  happen  that 
instead  of  having  crushed  or  lost  the  use  and  power  of  a 
fervent  heart,  you  will  have  gained  both  quietude  and 
activity,  enthusiasm  and  calm;  gained,  that  is,  the  full 
use  of  two  powers,  and  developed  both — for  ardour 
is  deepened  by  temperance,  and  temperance  is  kept  warm 
by  ardour. 

Therefore  I  repeat  the  principle.  It  is  not  coercion  of 
qualities  which  saves  us  from  their  dangerous  extremes ;  it  is 
the  full  development  of  all  the  qualities  in  the  character. 
Each  will  then  check  the  extravagant  and  erring  growths  of 
each,  and  minister  to  the  right  and  beautiful  growth  of  each  ; 
so  that,  at  last,  all  the  powers  of  the  character,  working  in 
and  through  each  other  with  full  force,  and  charioted  by 


i8o         The  Education  of  Fervour  of  Spirit. 

ardour    and  temperance,    race    forwards    to    the   last   and 
highest  goal — the  perfection  of  the  man  in  God. 

That  is  the  first  principle  of  the  education  of  a  fervent 
nature.  The  second  thing  to  be  spoken  of  is  the  education 
itself.  Every  quality — and  especially  ardour  which  is  the 
inspirer  of  the  other  qualities — needs  more  than  the  influence 
which  the  development  of  other  qualities  exercise  upon  it. 
It  needs  an  education  of  its  own.  What,  then,  is  the  quiet 
soul  which  seeks  ardour  because  it  fears  apathy,  and  the 
fervent  soul  which  must  ennoble  ardour  lest  it  should 
run  away  with  its  possessor — what  are  they  to  do  ?  How 
is  ardour  of  heart  to  be  gained  and  trained  ? 

i.  Well,  first,  there  are  certain  things  which  never  grow 
old,  never  decay,  and  are  always  full  of  life ;  they  are  as 
beautiful  in  this  century  as  they  were  a  hundred  centuries 
ago.  These  are  the  common  things  of  earth  and  air,  and 
the  universal  things  of  simple  human  nature — the  loveliness 
of  the  woods  and  skies,  the  hills  and  waters,  of  the  grass  of 
the  field,  and  the  ways  of  animals  and  plants ;  the  sweet- 
ness of  human  love  and  faith,  the  common  duties  and 
hopes  and  works  of  life;  the  universal  relations,  in  purity 
and  tenderness,  of  men  to  women,  and  women  to  men  ;  the 
multitudinous  interchanges  of  work,  sympathy,  sacrifice  and 
help  which  pass  between  us  all,  hour  by  hour— multi- 
tudinous as  the  stars,  and  as  beautiful ;  as  constant  in 
their  companionship  as  sun  and  moon,  and  yet  as  ever- 
lasting. "  Their  sound  is  gone  forth  into  all  lands,  and 
their  words  to  the  end  of  the  world." 

These  are  the  things  which  men  and  women  possess,  but 
do  not  set  themselves  to  love.  They  are  thought  to  be  too 


The  Education  of  Fervour  of  Spirit.         181 

common ;  and  as  culture  increases  and  curiosity  develops, 
men  seek  for  the  strange  and  the  uncommon,  for  the  rare 
and  the  complex,  on  which  to  expand  their  ardour,  and  by 
which  to  awaken  it.  So  grows  up  a  life  which,  like  our 
modern  life,  is  full  of  failure,  and  full  of  exhaustion  ;  for 
few  can  win  the  uncommon,  and  when  it  is  won,  it  is  soon 
drained  dry. 

But  it  should  not  be  so  with  you.  The  simplicities  of  life 
are  perennial  streams.  Live  in  your  cottage  by  their  side,  and 
their  sweet  flowing  will  be  the  good  and  beauty  of  all  your  days. 

It  is  not  difficult  for  youth,  and  it  should  not  be  difficult 
for  those  who  are  older,  to  win  the  power  of  enjoying  these 
simple  and  common  things  of  nature  and  of  life  ;  to  get  out 
of  them  enchantment,  such  enchantment  as  the  child 
has  in  its  little  garden;  and  by  living  with  them  daily 
to  learn  to  love  them  with  a  love  which  never  can  grow 
cold.  It  is  by  companying  with  them,  with  set  desire  to 
keep  and  to  encourage  the  natural  joy  and  love  with  which 
they  are  at  first  attended,  that  the  natural  joy  and  love  is  ex- 
alted into  an  eternal  and  spiritual  possession.  Then  as 
years  go  on,  admiration  of  their  beauty  and  power  de- 
velops, for  the  more  we  know  of  them  the  wider  seems  their 
universe ;  and  after  admiration  comes  reverence  of  them, 
for  we  become  conscious  of  their  universality,  their  eternity, 
and  that  God  is  nearest  to  us  in  them.  Out  of  all  these, 
and  continuously,  stream  the  sources  and  the  river  of 
ardour.  The  quiet  soul  can  find  enough  in  them  to  kindle 
fervour,  the  stillest  of  mankind  who  has  loved  them  can 
never  pass  into  the  apathetic  life.  The  fiery  heart  who  has 
gained  them  will  not  care  to  send  its  desires  forth  to 


1 82          The  Education  of  Fervour  of  Spirit. 

strange  lands,  or  to  pursue  strange  excitements.  It  has 
enough,  for  its  love  and  joy  are  full ;  and  its  passion  is  kept 
from  wrong  by  noble  admiration,  by  sacred  reverence  for 
their  deathless  and  righteous  beauty. 

Nor  are  these  words  too  strong.  The  simple  things  of 
nature  and  mankind  are  in  truth  the  divine  and  beautiful 
things.  The  complex  and  curious  things  are  not  divine,  for 
they  are  not  purely  human ;  not  perfectly  beautiful  for  they 
are  exhaustible.  As  we  penetrate  into  these  common 
things  of  nature  and  man,  as  we  go  on  living  with  them, 
they  grow  brighter  and  brighter,  more  and  more  varied.  As 
we  penetrate  into  and  live  with  the  remoter  and  difficult 
things,  they  grow  wearisome,  less  and  less  varied.  There  is 
as  much  difference  between  the  strange  and  sensational 
scenery  of  nature  and  human  life,  in  which  a  diseased  ardour 
loves  to  roam,  and  their  original  and  simple  elements,  as 
there  is  between  an  artificial  garden  full  of  exotic  flowers 
and  the  gracious  universality  of  the  grass  of  the  field.  The 
garden  is  but  rarely  seen,  and  we  tire  of  it  in  a  month.  The 
grass  spreads  everywhere  in  soft  and  satisfying  beauty  ;  and 
in  every  place — beneath  the  trees,  among  the  rocks,  beside 
the  stream,  in  nooks  of  the  hills,  on  far-spread  plains,  in 
narrowing  combes — is  always  different,  and  yet  in  difference 
is  lovely.  It  is  so  with  simple  things,  and  with  their  joy  and 
love.  Once  we  have  found  their  love,  once  we  can  enjoy 
them — our  ardour  for  them,  and  the  reasons  of  that  ardour, 
grow  day  by  day.  And  age,  even  in  decay,  keeps  to  them 
as  fervent  a  spirit  as  youth,  in  its  brightness  and  life, 
bestowed  upon  them.  This  then  is  one  form  of  the 
education  we  should  give  to  fervour  of  spirit.  It  is  an 


77/6'  Education  of  Fervour  of  Spirit.         183 

education  that  guards  our  ardour  from  wrong,  establishes  it 
in  good,  preserves  it  and  deepens  it  to  the  close  of  life. 

ii.  But  this  is  not  enough.  We  want  something  more 
upon  which  to  feed  ardour  of  heart  than  the  every-day 
beauty  of  nature,  and  the  every-day  life  and  love  of  human 
life.  We  need  to  give  the  soul  that  which  lifts  us  above  the 
daily  world,  which  enables  us  to  soar  and  sing,  which 
kindles  in  us  that  which  seeks  perfection,  which  aspires  to 
see  the  "  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land."  And  this  is 
now  easy.  For  having  attained  to  love  of  the  simple  and  the 
common,  we  can  now  find  the  sublime  and  the  imaginative. 
The  first  and  the  right  step  has  been  made,  and  in  the 
true  order.  "First  the  natural,  afterward  that  which  is 
spiritual."  It  is  through  the  real  that  we  are  made 
conscious  of  the  ideal.  It  is  when  we  are  kindled  by  the 
daily  beauty  of  the  world,  and  thrilled  by  it,  that  there  steals 
slowly  into  us — as  often  you  must  have  felt  in  solitary  places 
in  the  wroods,  or  hills,  or  by  the  deep  sea — a  sense  of  some- 
thing greater — of  sublimity  which  cannot  be  expressed  ;  of 
universal  life  ;  of  thought  that  may  not  be  circumscribed  ; 
of  love  that  is  as  a  spiritual  fire  in  all  things  ;  of  an  infinite 
beauty,  of  which  all  beauty  of  air  and  earth  is  but  the  form. 
In  such  moments  outward  nature  vanishes  away,  and  we 
seem  to  stand  alone,  uplifted  in  silent  and  solemn  awe,  hand 
in  hand  with  the  invisible  and  everlasting  God. 

There  are  those  who  throw  these  hours  and  their  emotions 
away  as  unfitted  for  practical  life.  I  ask  you  to  seize  on  them, 
to  make  their  memories,  when  they  themselves  pass  away,  the 
favoured  haunts  of  the  imagination,  to  cherish  them  as  the 
consecrated  holidays  of  life  ;  to  make  them  the  food  of  the 


1 84         The  Education  of  Fervour  of  Spirit. 

thoughts  that  kindle  feeling  in  youth,  and  of  the  feelings 
which  supply  thought  to  age.  Ardour  of  heart  thrives  upon 
them ;  grows  into  beauty  through  them,  develops  by  them 
delicately  and  strongly  ;  is  ennobled  by  their  company.  They 
break  into  poetry  in  youth,  they  dedicate  the  beginning  of 
manhood  to  high  aims  ;  they  keep  middle  age  free  from  the 
curse  of  worldliness,  from  the  deceitfulness  of  riches,  from 
overcare  and  overwork  ;  and  they  are  the  exalting  com- 
panions of  old  age.  Educate  your  ardour  with  them,  be 
borne  with  joy  and  rapture  on  their  wings  into  the  im- 
passioned world  of  the  imagination,  into  the  infinite  world 
where  the  spirit  is  alone  with  God.  There  will  be  no  danger, 
with  such  companions,  of  exhausting  ardour,  no  risk  of 
rushing  into  extravagance ;  the  spirit  will  be  filled  with  a 
divine  glow  which  will  take  earthly  ardour  into  itself,  and 
there  exalt  and  purify  it. 

iii.  Nearer  to  us,  and  more  magnificent,  are  those  ideals 
which  come  to  us  through  the  simple  and  common  things  of 
human  life.  We  see  with  pleasure  the  gay,  unconscious  joy 
of  children — and  all  in  a  moment  we  think  of  the  perfect 
joy.  We  watch  the  love  which  binds  two  together,  and  makes 
the  whole  world  romance  to  them — why  is  it  that  we  pass 
beyond  it  to  think  of  love  for  ever  undivided,  of  a  land  where 
nothing  shall  grow  old  ?  We  see,  in  the  midst  of  sorrow 
and  pain,  one  who  daily  surrenders  life  for  love's  sake,  and 
finds  in  the  surrender  happiness — and  through  the  sight 
we  pass  beyond  it,  and  see  the  absolute  sacrifice  of  which  it 
is  one  form.  We  hear  the  story  of  the  Prodigal  Son — and  it 
is  not  only  a  single  forgiveness  on  earth  we  realize,  but  the 
universal  forgiving  of  the  Everlasting  Father.  We  touch  one 


Tlie  Education  of  Fervour  of  Spirit.         185 

instance  of  mercy,  or  gentleness,  or  long  suffering — and  how 
is  it  that  we  find  ourselves  enthralled  by  the  sense  of  their 
eternal  beauty  ?  We  rejoice,  finding  one  example  of  right- 
eousness and  purity  won  through  moral  strife  or  faith  in  God 
—and  are  carried  forward  as  if  on  wings  to  behold  the  face 
of  absolute  righteousness.  We  are  excited  by  some  pursuit 
of  truth  which  has  ended  in  grasping  the  truth ;  by  some 
struggle  for  liberty  which  has  won  its  day,  or  its  crown  of 
martyrdom  ;  by  some  endeavour  towards  one  form  of  beauty 
which  has  at  last  shaped  itself  in  music  or  in  art  ~, — and  it  is 
impossible  to  stay  in  any  of  these  things  :  we  leave  them 
behind,  and  for  the  moment  (but  through  their  impulse) 
realize  the  divine  labour  which  rejoices  as  it  creates, 
absolute  truth  and  the  knowledge  of  it,  liberty  found  by 
all  the  world  of  men  and  sanctioned  by  the  decree  of 
God ;  beauty  ever  flowing,  always  perfect,  and  accomp- 
lishing itself  in  a  myriad-formed  variety.  So,  through 
the  natural  and  common  things  of  man,  we  conceive  in  a 
just  way  their  ideals ;  and,  conceiving  them,  love  them  with 
joy  unspeakable  and  full  of  glory.  Yes,  these  are  ideas :  they 
make  the  high  clear  air  into  which  we  can  mount  and  sing 
when  we  leave  our  nest  below.  While  we  fly  upwards  in 
them,  we  know  what  we  shall  be  when  we  see  God  as 
He  is. 

These  ideas,  then,  are  the  ethereal  food  of  ardour.  For 
them  I  bid  you  burn  and  glow.  They  lead  to  no  monotony ; 
they  cannot  be  exhausted.  There  is  no  extravagance  in 
their  enthusiasm ;  no  sin  or  wrong  hidden  behind  their 
beauty,  and  of  their  noble  pursuit  there  is  no  end  ;  and  in  it 
no  shipwreck.  Tongue  cannot  tell  what  a  life  it  is  to  live 


1 86         The  Education  of  Fervour  of  Spirit. 

within  them,  and  what  a  death  it  is  which  dies  expecting 
clearer  vision  of  them. 

But  it  is  not  enough  to  glow  only  within  with  these  ideas. 
Indeed,  if  you  have  them  truly,  and  burn  with  them,  they 
force  you  into  activity.  Therefore,  would  you  still  further 
feed  and  educate  ardour  of  heart,  live  for  these  ideas  as 
Christ  your  Master  lived  for  them?  Let  the  fire  of  them 
pass  from  thoughts  and  feelings  into  acts  ;  kindle  others  by 
shaping  their  light  and  heat  within  you  into  deeds  before 
men,  and  for  the  sake  of  men.  Show  forth,  as  beautifully 
as  you  can,  the  ideals  in  reality,  so  that  men  may  be  lured 
to  run  after  them.  Make  clear  your  ardent  love  of  love,  of 
truth,  of  liberty,  of  forgiveness,  and  of  beauty,  by  living  and 
dying  for  it.  Sacrifice  your  whole  life  upon  its  altar 
with  a  fervent  and  willing  heart.  Then  you  will  understand 
what  the  Son  of  Man — who  thus  lived,  and  in  such  ardour 
— meant  when  He  said,  "  I,  if  be  lifted  up,  will  draw  all  men 
to  me." 

iv.  Then — there  is  yet  another  step.  Ask  yourselves 
— Are  these  things  only  ideas,  or  do  they  inhere  in  one 
Being,  from  whom  they  come  to  us,  and  in  whom  they  are 
essential  and  perfect,  and,  therefore,  most  blessed  of  all 
tidings,  in  union  with  whom  we  shall  realize  their  perfect 
beauty  ? 

And  the  answer  to  that  question  is  a  rejoicing  affirmative. 
There  is  God — our  Father.  This  is  the  answer  Jesus 
Christ  gave,  "  Be  ye  therefore  perfect ;  even  as  your 
Father  which  is  in  heaven  is  perfect."  All  the  daily 
beauty  of  earth,  and  air,  and  human  life,  and  all  the  ideals 
of  mankind  flow  from  Him,  are  made  in  Him,  arc  Himself; 


The  Education  of  Fervour  of  Spirit.         187 

are  absolute  in  perfection  in  Him.  When,  therefore,  we 
burn  and  glow  for  them,  we  burn  and  glow  for  God.  To 
know  that  truth,  to  realize  it  as  the  deepest  foundation  of 
life,  is  to  make  all  life  religious. 

Then — in  this  ordered  progress  of  the  education  of 
ardour — we  have  reached  the  goal,  the  highest  worship 
which  fervour  of  spirit  can  give ;  the  celestial  food  by  which 
it  lives  most  purely,  nobly,  and  eternally  ;  the  home  where 
ardour  flames  for  ever,  but  also  is  at  peace  for  ever. 

Lastly,  in  this  wisely-regulated  life,  has  not  the  possibility 
of  the  evils,  dangers,  and  unwisdom  of  which  I  spoke 
disappeared  ?  They  cannot  come  to  quietude  which  has 
sought  such  ardour,  or  to  ardour  which  has  undergone 
this  education.  The  passion  of  goodness  is  at  the  root  of 
daily  life ;  the  passion  for  perfection  at  the  root  of  imagina- 
tive life ;  and  the  love  of  God,  as  of  a  child  to  a  father, 
carries  both  onwards  for  ever  into  the  eternal  world.  Nor  is 
the  present  lost ;  for  in  it  all  the  simple  things  we  first  love 
are  preserved.  The  higher  ardours  have  grown  out  of 
the  lower,  as  naturally  as  the  branches  of  a  tree  from  its 
root  and  stem  ;  and  they,  taking  from  the  light  and  air  of 
heaven  new  energy,  send  it  back  to  the  roots  of  common 
life,  so  that  they  also  multiply  themselves,  and  strike  more 
deeply,  firmly,  and  with  greater  joy,  into  the  simple  and 
natural  humanity,  out  of  which  at  first  the  tree  arose.  The 
real,  the  ideal,  and  God,  are  knit  each  to  each  in  natural 
piety  ;  we  lose  ourselves  ;  and,  bathed  in  one  glowing  ardour 
of  love  and  joy,  are,  at  last — fervent  in  spirit,  and  at  one 
with  God. 


i88 


[February  25,  1883.] 
YOUTH.— FERVENT  IN  SPIRIT. 

"Not  slothful  in  business  ;  fervent  in  spirit;  serving  the  Lord." — 
ROMANS  xii.  n. 

THE  sermons  I  have  preached  on  this  text  have  been 
chiefly  occupied  in  analysis  of  certain  forms  of  feeling  and 
act  belonging  to  a  fervent  heart,  and  with  the  manner  of 
avoiding  the  dangers  and  educating  the  capacities  which 
belong  to  it.  What  has  been  said,  therefore,  has  chiefly 
belonged  to  the  inner  life.  Of  that  portion  of  the  text 
which  belongs  to  the  outer  life — "slothful  in  business" — 
nothing  has  yet  been  said ;  and  of  its  latter  clause — 
"  serving  the  Lord  " — not  enough  has  yet  been  said. 

The  three  phrases  may  be  allotted  to  the  three  periods 
of  life — to  youth,  to  middle  age,  and  to  old  age.  It 
is  natural  that  fervour  of  heart  should  rule  in  youth ;  that 
activity  in  business  should  rule  in  manhood  ;  that  serving 
the  Lord  should  have  the  undivided  attention  of  old  age. 
But  when  I  say  that  these  several  things  rule  in  each  period, 
I  do  not  mean  that  youth  should  not  serve  the  Lord  and  be 
active  in  business  ;  that  middle  age  should  not  be  fervent  in 
spirit  and  serve  the  Lord;  that  age  should  not  be  eager 
of  heart  and  active  in  its  own  work — but  only  that  at  each 
of  these  periods  one  of  these  aims  or  qualities  of  heart  has 


Youth. — Fervent  in  Spirit.  189 

naturally  the  most  attention  given  to  it.  It  is  the  mistake 
of  life  that  so  many  men  act  as  if  they  said,  "  I  will  be 
ardent  only  in  youth ;  active  only  in  manhood ;  I  will 
serve  God  only  in  old  age."  That  is  common,  and 
common  is  the  result — the  loss  in  manhood  of  the  powers 
of  youth,  because  all  its  fervour,  being  unbalanced,  has 
been  exhausted ;  the  incapacity  of  manhood  for  perfect 
development,  because  it  is  given  up  to  business  only ; 
and  when  old  age  comes,  inability  to  serve  the  Lord, 
for  the  man  can  scarcely  hope  to  take  up  when  he  is  decay- 
ing that  which  he  has  neglected  all  his  life.  I  will,  there- 
fore, speak  to-day  of  how  youth  should,  in  the  midst  of 
its  fervour,  be  not  slothful  in  business,  and  how  it  should 
serve  the  Lord. 

Youth  is  the  time  when  feeling  is  most  awake,  and 
most  enjoys  itself.  The  freshness  of  its  morning  is  like 
sunlight  in  all  things,  and  every  day  opens  a  new  land 
to  curiosity,  to  effort,  and  to  joy.  We  love  the  beauty 
of  the  world,  and  do  not  spoil  the  beauty  by  asking  how  or 
why  we  love  it.  It  is  for  that  reason  that  hour  by  hour 
revelations  are  made  to  us  by  nature,  that  we  live  upon  the 
crest  of  enjoyment,  always  fervent  for  the  future.  Nor  is 
our  life  with  man  less  wonderful,  less  impassioned.  Keen  in 
our  sympathy  for  the  rights  of  man,  we  are  as  keen  in  our 
indignation  against  his  wrongs.  We  play  with  every  theory 
that  concerns  the  progress  of  the  race,  have  daily  dreams  of 
what  we  will  do  for  it,  look  forward  to  a  golden  age  and  sing 
it ;  spend  an  infinity  of  emotion  on  the  past  history,  on  the 
present  struggles,  and  have  an  infinite  faith  in  the  future,  of 
mankind.  Personal  love  adds  its  passion  to  universal  love 


190  Youth. — Fervent  in  Spirit. 

and  deepens  our  capacity  of  feeling  ;  and  with  first  love  come 
ideal  dreams — those  visions  which  form  so  much  of  the 
scenery  of  youth,  and  which,  though  they  may  never  be 
realized,  are  yet  the  fountain  by  whose  waters  the  whole  of 
life  is  sweetened,  ennobled,  and  kept  pure. 

Youth  should  be  full  of  beauty,  joy  and  fervour ;  and  it 
is  one  of  the  worst  curses  of  a  conventional  society  that  so 
few  have  any  youth  at  all.  How  many  of  the  young  men 
and  young  girls  whom  we  meet  are  fervent  in  spirit  ?  Tied 
up  like  plants  in  a  greenhouse,  they  are  clipped  into  the 
shapes  that  society  imposes  on  them,  and  their  fate  is  to 
produce  a  multitude  of  over-developed  flowers  at  a  certain 
time,  and  then — so  far  as  blossoming  or  beauty,  fervour 
or  natural  impulse  are  concerned — to  be  no  more  good  at 
all  for  the  rest  of  their  lives. 

But  you  who  do  feel,  enjoy,  and  love  naturally,  and  who 
are  eager  to  put  aside  conventionalities  when  they  limit  that 
which  is  natural  and  simple  and  true,  let  your  youth  and  all 
it  has  possess  their  fulness.  As  long  as  you  are  children  of  the 
bridechamber,  do  not  fast.  But  remember  that  life  is  not 
all  youth,  and  that  the  way  ahead  is  long.  Noon  is  coming 
with  its  burning  heat,  and  afternoon,  and  evening — and  the 
fervent  heart  is  not  all  you  need  with  which  to  meet  these 
later  days  of  life.  Unless  you  have  strengthened  and  en- 
nobled the  qualities  of  youth,  they  will  be  exhausted  while 
you  are  yet  young,  and  manhood  and  old  age  will  be 
defrauded  of  their  use  and  presence. 

How,  then,  are  you  to  prepare  in  youth  to  meet  the 
trials  of  manhood  and  old  age,  to  strengthen  and  develop 
those  special  qualities  of  youth  which  you  ought  to  carry 


Youth. — Fervent  iu  Spirit.  191 

with  you,  as  powers  of  the  soul,  into  later  life  ?  Bring 
into  youth  the  special  needs  and  powers  of  after  life.  Let 
it  be  not  slothful  in  business,  and  let  it  serve  the  Lord. 

i.  Not  slothful  in  business.  Unless  you  gain  in  youth 
the  habit  of  work,  you  will  have  to  dedicate  all  the  first 
years  of  manhood  to  gaining  it,  and  all  the  time  you 
then  spend  in  winning  with  difficulty  what  you  ought 
to  have  already  won  with  ease  is  dead  loss  which  you 
might  have  avoided,  and  which  you  never  can  replace. 
I  do  not  say  that  you  are  to  work  so  as  to  lose  joy, 
excitement,  love,  for  then  you  will  ruin  your  youth  and  spoil 
your  manhood,  but  you  must  bring  work  into  your  joy  and 
love.  How  ?  There  is  the  delight  you  have  in  Nature  : 
mingle  with  it  some  knowledge  !  Get  some  ideas  with 
regard  to  the  causes  of  the  things  you  love  !  It  will  not 
make  the  way  of  the  winds  with  the  clouds  less  beautiful 
when  you  take  some  trouble  to  know  how  they  move  and 
why  they  are  so  lovely.  It  will  not  make  the  earth  less 
glorious  if  you  know,  by  some  steady  labour,  how  the  hills 
were  built  and  hewn  into  the  forms  that  kindle  in  you 
poetic  feeling.  And  you  will  have  gained  a  power  beyond 
the  knowledge  and  beyond  the  feeling  which  you  can  use 
like  a  sword  in  after  life  to  open  your  way  through  the  world. 

Let  it  be  the  same  with  your  impassioned  desires  for  man 
and  with  your  personal  love  and  ideals.  Find  out  some  way, 
even  the  slightest,  by  which  day  by  day  you  may  put  your 
enthusiasm  into  a  practical  form,  and  cling  close  to  the 
doing  of  this  little  thing  until  you  bring  it  into  finish.  Do 
not  begin  another  thing  till  that  one  thing  is  in  working 
order.  That  will  give  you  power.  He  who  can  finish  that 


192  Youth. — Fervent  in  Spirit. 

which  is  least  can  finish,  in  after  life,  that  which  is  greatest. 
And  as  to  your  excitement  and  its  youthful  joy — instead  of 
being  lessened  it  will  be  doubled.  Nothing  increases 
excitement  of  a  true  kind  so  much  as  putting  that  about 
which  we  are  excited  into  working  form.  The  same  is  true 
with  regard  to  ideals.  You  have  a  vision  of  absolute  self- 
sacrifice,  of  universal  justice.  Well,  keep  the  visions  ;  let 
them  illuminate  and  glorify  life,  but  be  not  slothful  in  their 
business.  All  ideals  have  their  work,  or  they  cease  to  be 
ideals.  Sacrifice  yourself  for  others — here,  at  home  ;  sacri- 
fice your  poetic  contemplation  of  self-sacrifice  for  the 
sake  of  making  a  brother,  a  sister,  a  friend  happier — get  the 
ideal  of  love  into  some  form.  The  dream  of  universal 
justice  and  truth  is  beautiful,  but  it  will  pass  away  if  you  are 
not  active  about  it.  Take  some  pains,  then,  to  be  just  and 
truthful  in  the  particular  ;  for  the  proper  food  of  universal 
ideals  is  particular  practice  of  them.  If  you  want  justice  all 
over  the  world — be  just  in  your  own  little  corner  of  it.  Get, 
I  say  again,  the  ideal  into  form  and  with  activity,  and  you 
will  find  that  you  will  lose  nothing  of  your  delight  in  the 
imaginative  vision,  nor  will  the  vision  become  less  beautiful. 
On  the  contrary,  the  ideal  will  grow  more  splendid ;  the 
vision  open  new  worlds  to  you,  your  fervour  increase,  and 
your  youth  have  more  rapture. 

As  to  personal  love,  it  is  the  same.  The  days  of  first 
love,  all  the  days  of  youthful  love,  are  enchanting.  It  is  a 
business  in  which  one  is  never  slothful ;  but  it  is  often  a  time 
when  we  are  lured  into  doing  no  other  business ;  and, 
through  that,  a  foundation  of  laziness  is  laid  for  life. 
Drifting  and  idleness  become  habits  of  the  soul,  and,  by  and 


Youth. — Fervent  in  Spirit.  193 

by,  when  love  has  had  its  way  and  won  its  goal,  we 
who  have  been  most  romantic,  most  fervent,  are  surprised 
in  after  life,  when  we  look  back  to  find  that  all  the 
romance  is  gone,  all  the  fervour  grown  cold ;  and  though 
love  has  remained  true,  yet  that  it  has  become  common- 
place. It  wears  no  more  its  robe  of  many  colours,  nor 
does  the  sunshine  fall  upon  it  now,  or  the  glow  of  imagina- 
tion. Its  charm  has  been  left  behind  in  the  fields  of  youth. 
This  is  a  common  story,  and  a  sad  one.  Of  all  sorrowful 
things  the  death  of  romance  is  the  most  sorrowful. 

One  reason  of  this  sad  thing  is  that  love  has  not 
been  united  to  any  other  activity,  to  any  other  interest  or 
business  than  its  own.  It  ought  to  have  taken  into  its 
house — "  Not  slothful  in  business."  Love,  when  it  is  of  the 
best  quality,  should  not  only  be  full  of  itself,  but  should 
kindle  and  stimulate  all  the  powers  of  life  ;  should  make  you 
conscious  of  powers  you  did  not  know  of,  and  never  let  you 
rest  until  you  had  used  them ;  should  make  you  do  all  the 
things  you  have  to  do  much  better  than  before ;  think  twice 
as  quickly,  act  with  double  swiftness  ;  live  with  more  truth, 
more  faith,  more  hope,  more  of  purpose  than  before ;  set 
every  capacity  into  movement ;  make  every  beautiful  thing 
more  beautiful,  and  every  ideal  more  ideal,  and  your  desire 
to  get  the  beautiful  into  form,  and  the  ideal  into  some 
reality,  so  intense  that  you  cannot  rest  until  you  are 
accomplishing  your  desire. 

That  is  what  love  should  do;  make  you  not  only  not 
slothful  in  its  own  work,  but  not  slothful  in  the  business  of 
life.  And  then — what  happens?  Has  love  lessened  through 
this  activity  beyond  itself?  Is  it  made  less  ideal,  less 


194  Youth. — Fervent  in  Spirit. 

romantic,  when  its  power  is  used  for  the  practical  work  of 
life,  for  realities?  Is  it  less  concentrated  on  its  object 
because  its  strength  is  spread  abroad  over  many  interests, 
or  less  beautiful  because  it  is  taken  into  the  midst  of  the 
commonplace  ?  No,  indeed ;  it  is  increased,  because  all  the 
interests  in  which  it  has  shared  have  poured  each  their  ad- 
ditional interest  into  it ;  it  is  more  romantic,  more  ideal 
more  enkindled,  and  more  beautiful,  because  it  has  proved 
its  power  to  shed  romance  over  the  commonplace,  to  make 
the  everyday  things  of  life  ideal,  to  change  the  slowest  work 
into  the  swiftest,  and  the  ugliest  work  into  beauty  and 
splendour ;  until  this  mutual  and  enlivening  action  of  love 
and  of  activity  upon  each  other,  this  doubling  and  trebling 
of  life,  moving  together  over  a  hundred  interests — are 
all  taken,  with  all  their  powers,  and  added  to  love  and  to 
the  object  loved,  so  that  concentration  of  feeling  is  in- 
creased by  expansion  of  feeling,  and  personal  love  made 
tenfold  more  profound  and  fervent  because  more  living,  more 
excited,  and  more  interesting. 

And  after-life  knows  the  blessing  of  that  earnest  effort  to 
realize  the  ideal.  Love  so  wrought  together  with  activity,  so 
divided  from  slothfulness,  so  expanded  over  all  the  world, 
does  not  decay,  does  not  lose  its  beauty,  its  changeful  coat, 
its  sunshine  of  imagination,  its  romance.  Accustomed  from 
the  beginning  to  movement,  it  is  always  alive.  Trained  to 
use  its  power  in  work,  all  the  interest  of  afterwork  naturally 
flows  into  it,  and  is  part  of  its  sweet  waters.  The  charm  is 
kept,  love's  memories  of  the  past  are  always  sweet,  its 
future  always  ideal,  its  present  always  tender. 

That   is   a   work   well   worthy  of  youth  to  do ;   and  it 


Youth. — Fervent  in  Spirit.  195 

is  done  by  adding  the  special  aim  of  manhood,  "  activity 
in  business,"  to  the  special  quality  of  youth,  "  fervour  of 
heart."  On  this,  then,  I  have  said  enough.  The  principle 
is  now  easily  grasped,  and  each  may  apply  it  as  they 
please. 

But  this  is  only  a  part  of  what  I  have  to  say.  We  must 
bring  into  youth  and  its  fervour,  not  only  the  activity  of 
manhood,  but  the  religious  spirit  which  ought  to  be  deepest 
in  old  age.  /;/  youth  let  us  seme  the  Lord.  Not  as  in  age, 
not  in  the  same  way  as  in  manhood — to  each  their  own — 
but  in  the  way  that  fits  the  time. 

There  are  those  who  do  not  care  to  bring  God  into  their 
youth,  who  are  content  with  its  joy  and  live  only  from  hour 
to  hour.  It  is  time  enough,  they  think,  to  seek  for  their 
Father  when  trouble  comes  in  later  life,  or  when  death  is 
coming  in  age.  It  is  not  time  enough.  When  we  have 
not  known  our  God  as  the  Giver  of  our  joy,  we  shall  not 
easily  be  able  to  see  Him  as  our  Father  in  the  darkness 
of  manhood's  trouble,  and  love  Him  through  our  trial, 
and  have  His  power  with  us  for  our  battle.  We  are  more 
likely  then  to  think  Him  our  enemy,  to  see  our  trouble  as 
His  wrath,  and  our  weakness  as  His  cruelty ;  and  if  death 
should  come,  to  find  it  hard  to  know  that  behind  death 
He  is  waiting,  and  that  in  death  He  is  our  life. 

When  we  think  only  of  God's  anger,  troubles  continue, 
are  deepened,  and  sever  us  farther  from  Him ;  nor  does 
death  bring  us  at  once,  with  conscious  joy,  into  His 
presence.  No ;  that  communion  with  God  which  makes 
the  strength  of  manhood  and  the  comfort  of  age  and  the 
life  of  death,  is  not  to  be  gained  in  a  moment,  and  ought  to 

N    2 


196  Youth. — Fervent  in  Spirit. 

be  rooted  deep  in  the  consecration  of  youth  to  His  service. 
Give  to  God  the  freshness  of  your  early  inspiration.  If  He 
bestow  upon  you  joy  and  fervour,  activity  and  love,  forget  not 
the  Giver  in  the  gifts.  Sanctify  the  brightness  of  youth  with 
watchfulness  against  wrong,  with  carefulness  for  love  and 
truth,  with  prayerful  dedication  of  your  inward  life  to  the 
Father  who  loves  you,  with  constant  and  conscious  union  of 
all  your  outward  life  to  His  will.  And  then  when  trouble 
comes,  you  will  know  His  hand  in  it,  and  see  His  smile,  and 
be  thrilled  with  His  power ;  and  in  death  look  upwards  and 
behold  the  countenance  of  eternal  life.  Not  in  careless 
pleasure,  but  in  watchful  love  and  trust  of  God  your  Father, 
in  faithful  and  fervent  desire  to  be  His  child,  is  the  secret  of 
life's  victory,  and  of  the  overcoming  of  death  by  life. 

Others  are  not  so  much  careless  of  serving  the  Lord,  as 
steadily  opposed  to  it.  I  do  not  say  they  hate  religion,  but 
they  abjure  it.  They  have  no  reverence  for  it ;  all  worship 
wearies  them  ;  all  emotion  of  it  is  mere  sentiment,  and 
not  science ;  and  God,  they  say,  is  but  a  name  for  their 
own  ideas,  and  as  their  ideas  are  but  a  weakness,  they  bid 
them  begone. 

Well,  they  cannot  be  helped  at  present,  for  vanity  has  got 
hold  of  them.  And  they  may  live  very  well  upon  their  vanity. 
It  is  a  food  which  never  fails,  but  it  only  feeds  the  possessor, 
and  it  will  become  in  the  end  a  great  weariness  to  him, 
and  is,  indeed,  always  a  weariness  to  others.  I  do  not 
say  that  the  root  of  this  scorn  or  abjuration  of  God 
is  vanity  in  those  who  in  middle  age  or  in  later  life  throw 
God  and  religion  away.  They  do  it  seriously,  and  often 
after  long  struggle  and  trouble  ;  but  when  young  people,  who 


Youth. — Fervent  in  Spirit.  197 

have  had  no  experience  in  life,  profess  openly  to  cast  God 
aside,  it  is  almost  always  vanity,  adoration  of  their  own 
opinions,  which  prompt  them  to  do  so.  And  through  their 
vanity  they  lose  reverence  and  humility  and  the  sense  of 
things  beyond  them  and  above  them,  and  their  aspiration 
which  they  think  they  retain  is  not  aspiration,  it  is  ambition. 
They  can  succeed  in  winning  a  good  place  in  the  world,  in 
getting  wealth,  in  securing  a  moral  reputation,  in  being 
admirable  reasoners — but  there  is  one  thing  in  which  they 
will  not  succeed.  They  will  never  be  good  artists  in 
anything — only  mechanicians  in  painting,  poetry,  and  music 
— nor  will  they  ever  move,  thrill,  or  inspire  mankind.  In 
manhood  or  womanhood  they  will  never  awaken  a  great 
love,  or  stir  a  great  aspiration,  or  create  a  great  ideal. 
They  will  set  no  one  on  fire.  They  have  lost  the  use  of 
youth  in  vanity,  or  in  coldness  of  heart.  If  you  tell  them 
this,  they  will  not  believe  it,  indeed,  they  could  not  believe 
it,  but  it  is  true  ;  and  of  all  the  piteous  things  of  the  present 
day,  the  most  piteous  is  youth  which  boasts  itself  on  being 
without  a  God.  You  may  save  those  who  are  near  this  fate, 
if  you  are  very  wise  and  loving,  but  you  cannot  save  those 
who  are  in  it.  It  is  one  of  those  matters  which  has  to  be 
left  to  God  Himself.  But  you  who  are  young  and  not  vain, 
do  not  lose  the  serving  of  God  in  your  youth.  Take  all 
your  fervour,  all  your  joy  in  nature,  all  your  love,  all  your 
ideals,  and  mingle  with  them  worship  and  love  of  God. 

There  is  your  love  of  the  natural  world,  your  desire  to 
penetrate  its  secrets.  I  have  always  said  that  we  cannot 
realize  God  as  personal  in  the  universe  or  in  its  parts, 
but  we  can  pass  below  the  surface,  and  become  con- 


198  Youth. — Fervent  in  Spirit. 

scious,  through  the  conception  of  the  whole,  and  then, 
through  the  vision  of  any  part,  of  a  vast  Life  moving  in 
perfect  order,  of  a  Thought  which  is  as  vast  as  the  life 
and  which  informs  it,  and  then,  of  Love,  as  vast  as  life 
and  thought  and  informing  both,  which  kindles  all  this 
universe,  and  is  that,  which,  when  you  discover  a  secret 
way  of  nature,  makes  your  brain  leap  with  joy;  and  that 
which,  when  you  stand  ravished  in  the  woodland  beauty 
or  awed  into  solemn  pleasure  among  the  mountain  storms, 
is  flowing  through  you,  and  making  you  at  one  with  itself. 
What  is  that  life,  thought,  love  ?  It  is  God  the  Lord.  Take 
the  mighty  conception  always  with  you.  It  is  impersonal, 
but  none  the  less  real ;  and  it  will  elevate  all  scientific  work 
on  nature,  give  a  soul  to  all  the  doing  of  an  artist,  and  double 
through  its  grandeur  all  poetic  joy  in  nature.  To  keep  it 
always  with  you  is — in  this  sphere  of  youthful  life — to  serve 
the  Lord. 

Then,  there  is  youthful  love.  When  it  comes,  lay  it  at  the 
feet  of  the  Lord  of  all  love.  Let  it  be  sanctified  and 
hallowed,  all  through  its  course,  with  constant  reference  to 
Him  who  is  righteousness,  truth,  faithfulness,  purity,  and 
gentleness.  Thus,  you  will  keep  it  free  from  self,  free  from 
sin,  free  from  vanity,  free  from  commonplace  ;  and  ennoble 
it,  through  your  union  with  the  eternal,  with  the  glory  of 
the  Infinite.  And  God,  realized  now  as  caring  for  your  love, 
and  in  sympathy  with  it,  will  begin  to  grow  personal  to  you, 
and  dear  to  you,  and  at  home  with  you,  as  friend  to 
friend.  You  will  add  the  personal  to  the  impersonal  con- 
ception. 

Then,  again,  there  are  all  the  ideals  of  youth  and  all  its 


r36" 

TJKIVEBSlTt  U 

Youth. — Fervent  in  ?$pirtL  -  199 

dreams  for  man.  It  is  in  the  belief  that  all  these  ideals  are 
somewhere  realized — that  there  is  a  perfect  love,  a  perfect 
righteousness,  actually  thinking,  feeling,  and  acting,  and  who 
will  bring  us  finally  to  the  level  of  our  ideals  in  union 
with  Himself — it  is  in  that  belief  that  the  ideals  of  youth  take 
consistency,  win  the  power  of  inspiring  act,  and  become,  not 
visions  which  die  in  disappointment,  but  capacities  and 
powers  of  the  soul. 

And  as  these  deepen  into  powers,  and  our  faith  in  their 
having  a  source  in  one  mighty  Being  grows,  we  begin  to  see 
that  the  dreams  we  have  had  of  the  future  of  mankind 
are  not  merely  the  hopes  of  a  poet,  but  the  certainties 
of  noble  faith.  For  now  we  know  that  we  all  have  come 
from  God,  and  that  He  is  in  us,  as  He  is  in  nature:  personal 
with  us  because  we  are  personal,  impersonal  in  nature  because 
nature  is  impersonal ;  and,  therefore,  that  man  can  never  be 
divided  from  Him.  As  sure  as  He  lives,  all  men  shall  live 
for  ever.  As  sure  as  He  loves,  all  men  shall  love  for  ever. 
As  sure  as  He  is  righteous,  all  that  have  streamed  from 
Him,  and  taken  personality,  shall  be  personally  righteous 
for  evermore.  To  have  that  faith  is  to  serve  the  Lord 
in  youth,  for  all  these  beliefs,  being  living  and  impassionating 
thoughts,  kindle  the  outward  life  into  their  own  activities. 

Slowly,  then — and  here  is  the  end — there  grows  up  in 
such  a  life  the  sense  that  we  are  knit  to  God,  as  a  child  to 
a  Father  (the  sense  in  which  personal  religion  of  the  heart 
begins) ;  the  feeling  out  of  which  grows  personal  love  of  God, 
passionate  desire  to  do  His  holy  will,  and  to  be  at  one 
with  Him  for  ever.  The  knowledge  of  a  divine  communion 
begins ;  and  life  is  ennobled  by  it.  The  sense  of  eternity 


2OO  Youth. — Fervent  in  Spirit. 

grows  up  within  us,  the  faith  in  everlasting  life.  And,  for 
this  world,  and  for  the  next,  there  is  now  purpose  in 
our  life — the  purpose  of  holiness,  of  union  with  God,  of 
union  with  all  men  through  Him — and  with  this  purpose 
mingles  the  faith  in  everlasting  joy  for  all  mankind.  These 
add  their  powers  to  the  fervour  and  the  activity  of  youth,  and 
will  flow  through  the  whole  of  manhood  into  our  old  age. 
This  is  the  serving  of  the  Lord  in  youth.  It  is  not  yet  what 
it  will  be ;  but  it  is  enough  for  the  time.  The  seed  has  been 
sown,  the  plant  has  shot  above  the  ground,  the  spring  airs 
are  round  it,  and  the  sunshine  of  God  feeds  it.  It  will  grow; 
the  trials  of  after-life  will  not  deform,  but  develop  it ;  old 
age  will  not  destroy  its  glory,  but  make  it  perfect. 


201 


[March  4,  1883.] 
MIDDLE  AGE.— NOT  SLOTHFUL  IN  BUSINESS. 


"  Not  slothful  in  business;  fervent  in  spirit;  serving  the  Lord." — 
ROMANS  xii.  n. 


EVERY  one  who  can  be  said  to  have  lived  has  heard  the 
cry — "  not  slothful  in  business  " — on  passing  out  of  youth 
into  manhood,  on  entering  the  world  of  men.  The  time 
had  come  when  we  knew  we  had  to  put  preparation  aside, 
and  to  do  that  for  which  we  had  prepared  ourselves  ;  when 
we  heard  the  voice  of  home  less  and  lessening,  because 
the  call  was  so  loud  which  came  to  us  from  the  world 
without ;  when  the  claim  of  mankind  on  our  work  was  so 
powerful  within,  that  we  were  forced  to  put  aside  dreams, 
ideals,  love,  and  beauty,  or  at  least  our  absorption  in  them, 
and  go  forth  to  answer — "  I  am  here  " — as  a  soldier  in  the 
ranks  of  human  labour. 

There  are  many  who  obey  the  call  reluctantly,  sulkily, 
slothfully,  casting  back  longing  looks  to  the  garden  in  which 
they  have  lived  ;  hating  the  waste  land  they  are  called  on  to 
reclaim,  and  the  toil  of  reclaiming  it  still  more  ;  impatient 
as  children  with  the  thorns  and  thistles  which  spring  up 
under  their  feet.  But  he  who  puts  his  hand  to  the  plough 
and  looks  back  is  not  fit  for  the  kingdom  of  Labour,  any 
more  than  he  is  fit  for  the  kingdom  of  God.  Whatever  else 
ought  to  be  true  of  us  in  manhood,  there  is  one  thing  which 


202      Middle  Age. — Not  Slothful  in  Business. 

is  the  foundation  of  all  nobility  of  character — it  is  activity, 
"  not  slothful  in  business."  And  in  this  country  most  men 
are  workers.  There  is  an  idle  class  who  cumber  the  world 
and  rob  the  state,  and  live  by  the  overtoil  of  others  ;  but 
I  speak  of  the  workers  of  the  world,  who  give  their  whole 
middle-life  to  labour. 

They  do  rightly;  and  I  need  not  sing  the  praises  of 
earnest  and  steady  work  which  runs  to  its  goal,  and  wins  its 
goal ;  or  runs  to  its  goal,  and -seems  to  fail.  Whether  it  win 
or  fail,  matters  not,  provided  the  work  be  good.  Indeed,  it 
is  often  the  failures  of  honest  work  which  are  of  most  use  to 
mankind.  The  torch  which  drops  from  the  faithful  hand  is 
not  extinguished.  Another  runner  takes  it  up,  and  the 
work  itself  is  done,  though  the  first  worker  has  died  upon 
the  way  !  And  for  himself  the  sorrow  of  his  failure  lasts 
but  a  little  time.  For  the  labourer  lives  again,  and  in  the 
higher  world  rejoices  that  though  he  may  be  forgotten  the 
work  is  done  which  he  began.  It  is  not  personal  success 
that  God  or  man  demand  of  us.  It  is  that  we  be  not 
slothful  in  what  we  undertake. 

But  this  set  life  of  work  has  its  dangers,  and  especially 
at  this  time  when  many  men  seem  to  think  work  the  only 
good.  There  are  those  who  live  for  nothing  else  and  think 
of  nothing  else ;  who  are  like  horses  harnessed  in  the 
morning  to  turn  the  monotonous  mill,  and  who,  un- 
harnessed at  night,  eat  and  fall  asleep  to  renew  the  same 
dreary  toil  day  after  day  throughout  the  year.  Or,  tired 
of  this,  they  plunge  into  speculation  and  are  consumed  with 
cares  and  fears  about  money.  Or,  having  made  their  money, 
they  rush  into  the  other  extreme  of  idleness  and  dissipa- 


Middle  Age. — Not  Slothful  in  Business.      203 

tion,  and  squander  their  wealth  as  fast  as  they  have  made  it. 
Or,  not  having  desire  for  either  extreme  of  work  or 
speculation,  they  settle  down  into  a  low  life  of  weary  care 
and  weary  labour,  and  creep  to  death  all  their  days,  over 
weighted  with  their  own  apathy.  And  with  them  all  abides 
one  idol,  whose  worship  more  than  all  else  degrades 
and  renders  dead  the  soul — the  idol  of  the  world's  opinion 
of  their  life ;  what  their  large  or  small  society  will  say  of 
them  and  of  their  work.  That  is  their  God ;  and  a 
miserable  fetish  it  is  ! 

In  such  lives,  then,  what  room  is  there  for  joy,  for  love  of 
beauty,  for  love  of  noble  musing,  for  seeing  and  hearing  that 
which  uplifts  the  soul ;  for  the  dreaming  which  puts  them  in 
mind  of  Paradise,  for  the  ideals  which  take  them  out  of 
themselves  and  make  them  think  of  man  as  a  whole  ; 
for  the  wants  of  the  spirit  within  them  and  the  mighty 
hopes  which  take  a  man's  hand  and  lead  him  up  to 
God ;  which,  in  fruitful  solitude  and  wise  leisure,  cause  him 
to  hear  the  voice — like  John  of  Patmos — as  it  were  of  a 
trumpet  talking  to  him  and  saying — "  Come  up  hither,  and 
I  will  show  thee  things  that  shall  be  hereafter."  All  their 
youth  has  perished ;  all  its  fervour,  all  its  joy,  all  its  sweet 
and  high  enchantment !  The  men  have  lost  their  wings  ; 
and,  at  times,  the  infinite  pitifulness  of  this  passes  by  them 
like  a  vision  with  bright  hair,  weeping  and  crying  "  Out 
upon  them,"  and  they  know  its  wail  is  the  cry  of  a  loss  they 
never  can  repair,  and  one  hour  of  whose  ancient  gain  were 
worth  all  their  successful  years.  They  have  not  been  slothful 
in  business,  but  they  have  been  nothing  else,  and  their 
life  is  ruined.  This  is  the  fate  of  thousands.  It  is  not 


204       Middle  Age. — Not  Slothful  in  Business. 

easy  to  be  saved  from  it  when  once  it  has  been  accepted  as 
a  good,  but  I  warn  of  it  the  young  who  are  entering 
into  the  business  of  life.  And  the  warning  may  be  couched 
in  words  easy  to  remember — "  Take  care  to  bring  into  all 
work  which  you  are  not  to  do  slothfully  the  fervour 
of  spirit  which  chiefly  belongs  to  youth,  and  the  serving  of 
the  Lord  which  chiefly  belongs  to  old  age.  Be  not  slothful 
in  business,  but  also,  through  your  manhood,  be  fervent 
in  spirit,  and  serve  the  Lord. 

Do  not  let  the  spirit  of  youth  pass  wholly  away  !  In  the 
midst  of  the  great  city's  press  of  men,  remember  still 
the  days  when  you  loved  the  beauty  of  the  woods  and  hills ; 
and  let  the  memory  be  dear,  so  dear  that  you  cannot  be 
content  to  live  without  renewing  joys  so  pure.  Lose  some 
money,  give  some  time,  that  you  may  refresh  your  eyes  and 
restore  your  heart  with  the  loveliness  of  nature  which  is  given 
without  price,  but  which  will  not  give  itself  to  a  soul  which 
thinks  only  of  things  that  are  given  with  price.  Nor  yet 
wholly  surrender  romance.  Romance  lies  in  the  power  of 
passionately  feeling  all  things  that  are  beautiful  and  noble  in 
humanity,  but  chiefly  all  things  that  belong  to  love ;  and  it 
pertains,  as  deeply,  but  in  a  different  way,  to  the  heart  of  the 
old  man  as  it  does  to  youth,  and  as  it  ought  to  do  to  man- 
hood. Keep  your  soul  alive  to  it  in  the  midst  of  business. 
If  intensity  of  work  chill  or  decay  that  power  in  you,  be 
sure  you  are  losing  that  which  you  will  miss  most  bitterly 
when  old  age  steals  upon  you  ;  and  be  still  more  sure  then, 
that  work  and  the  worldliness  it  often  brings  with  it  are 
doing  you  grievous  wrong.  Better  lose  some  prosperity, 
better  give  up  some  of  your  money  and  position  than  grow 


Middle  Age. — Not  Slothful  in  Business.      205 

insensitive  to  kindling  feeling,  dull  of  heart,  chill  and 
half-dead  within.  Be  not  slothful  in  business,  but  keep 
romance  of  heart.  Let  youth  run  on  into  manhood. 

Nor  altogether  lose  your  dreams,  because  they  are  un- 
practical ;  or  forget  your  ideals,  because  you  have  not  time 
to  realize  them.  If  you  can  no  more  look  forward  to  a 
golden  age  for  man ;  if  you  have  lost  all  optimism,  if  you 
never  dream  as  a  poet  dreams ;  if  no  visions  come  before 
you  of  glorious  things  which  may  yet  happen  to  mankind ;  if 
you  have  no  hopes  or  sorrows  or  sympathies  beyond  your- 
self, if  you  can  never  leave  your  own  daily  life  and  all  its 
imprisoning  interests,  and  lose  yourself  in  prophecy — if 
you  have  no  ideals,  never  see  the  ideal  of  perfect  Truth, 
absolute  Self-sacrifice,  unstained  Justice,  Beauty  without  a 
flaw ;  if  no  aspiration  towards  the  unattainable  ever  besets 
you  or  lifts  you  towards  imaginative  perfection ;  if  all  these 
things,  which  belong  to  youth  and  which  live  by  fervour  of 
spirit,  have  left  you,  because  you  are  not  slothful  in  business 
— then,  your  business  is  killing  more  than  half  of  your  true 
life ;  and,  when  age  comes,  you  will  not  only  be  a  half-dead, 
miserable  man,  but  you  will  have  lost  those  qualities  with- 
out which  you  will  not  be  able  to  serve  the  Lord  in  any 
faithful  or  noble  way. 

To  live  by  these  things  alone  in  manhood  would  be 
folly.  To  carry  youth  only  into  manhood  is  never  to  be 
a  man ;  but  to  take  nothing  of  your  ardent  youth  with  you, 
is,  in  losing  the  continuity  of  personality,  and  in  losing  all 
inspiration,  never  to  become  a  complete  man. 

ii.  If  these  things  are  true  with  regard  to  ardour  of 
heart  mingled  with  activity  of  work,  still  more  are  they 


206      Middle  Age. — Not  Slothful  in  Business. 

true  with  regard  to  serving  God  in  the  midst  of  unslothful 
business. 

It  has  been  too  much  the  fashion  to  divide  the  service  of 
God  from  the  work  of  the  world,  to  call  on  men  to  leave  all 
business  to  follow  Christ,  as  if  Christ  meant  when  he  called 
Peter  and  Matthew  away  for  a  special  missionary  work,  that 
no  one  should  remain  to  do  the  needful  works  of  life,  and 
that  no  one  who  did  not  leave  these  works  could  follow  him. 
Thus  mistaking  a  particular  call  of  special  men  to  a 
particular  work  for  a  universal  call  to  all  men,  the  fatal 
division  was  made  of  sacred  and  profane  work ;  as  if  any 
work  was  profane  which  was  done  in  the  spirit  of  Christ ; 
as  if  Christ  himself  wished  to  make  the  whole  of  mankind 
into  missionary  preachers.  To  those  who  had  that  spirit  he 
said — "  Leave  all — sell  what  you  have — and  come  with  me  " 
— and  wise  advice  it  is.  The  mission  preacher  had  better 
cling  to  his  work,  and  leave  all  other  work  alone.  Property 
and  its  duties  are  only  his  confusion.  But  Jesus  had  no 
such  advice  for  those  who  had  another  kind  of  call.  He 
did  not  bid  the  business  man  leave  his  business,  but  do  it 
for  the  sake  of  man  and  in  faith  in  God.  The  parable  of 
the  talents  does  not  encourage  flight  from  the  work  of  the 
world. 

The  true  teaching  of  Jesus  was  that  all  work  was  given  to 
men  by  God,  and  was  to  be  done  divinely,  with  love  and 
faith  and  joy.  The  true  way  to  serve  God  in  business  is 
not  to  leave  it  for  idleness  of  spiritual  contemplation, 
but  to  do  it  in  the  faith  that  God  Himself  has  sent 
you  into  the  world  to  do  it;  and  to  reveal,  through  your 
doing  of  it,  a  part  of  His  character  to  man.  Whatever 


Middle  Age. — Not  Slothful  in  Business.      207 

profession,  trade,  or  craft  you  be,  it  is  God  Himself  who 
has  given  you  that  work,  and  placed  you  there  to  serve  Him 
in  it.  It  is  God's  work  you  do  ;  and  He  is  in  you  doing  it, 
for  the  sake  of  other  men,  His  children.  This  is  the  faith 
which  will  save  you  from  all  wrong  in  your  work,  from 
worldliness  in  it,  from  selfishness  in  it ;  and  make  its  highest 
aim,  not  your  own  wealth,  or  your  own  advance,  but  the 
manifestation  in  it  of  all  that  is  God's  character — of  truth, 
justice,  love,  uprightness,  reverence  for  the  work  itself  so 
that  it  may  be  the  very  best  you  can  do — and,  beyond  that, 
the  ultimate  direction  of  all  that  you  do  to  the  bettering, 
the  development,  and  the  saving  of  mankind.  To  show 
forth  in  work — in  law,  in  medicine,  in  literature,  in  art, 
in  the  ministry,  in  all  trades,  in  all  handicrafts,  in  every- 
thing that  man  or  woman  can  do — the  character  of  God, 
and  to  direct  all  work  to  the  advance  and  blessing  of  your 
brother-men ;  is  to  serve  God  while  you  are  not  slothful ; 
and  a  sacred  and  beautiful  conception  it  is  of  the  business 
of  middle  age. 

And  when  you  have  that  faith  and  live  by  it,  you  will 
carry  with  you  "through  bustling  lane  and  wrangling  mart," 
through  household  cares  and  common  duties,  a  secret 
sweetness,  charm  and  grace,  which  will  make  life  as  fair 
and  gracious  as  a  summer's  day.  Amid  the  noise  and 
overwhelming  of  the  world,  you  will  have  in  your  heart 
the  music  of  a  divine  communion ;  the  comfort  of  your 
Father's  love ;  and  in  your  ears  the  tranquillizing  voice  of 
Jesus — "Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled." 

These  are  the  powers  of  the  soul  which  will  lessen  the 
temptations  and  guard  you  in  the  troubles  of  middle  life. 


208      Middle  Age. — Not  Slothful  in  Business. 

They  will  lessen  the  temptations,  because,  carried  with  you 
into  the  midst  of  business,  they,  of  their  own  power, 
make  you  careless  of  men's  opinion,  keep  that  villain, 
Worldliness,  outside  the  doors  of  your  heart ;  hinder  the 
growth  of  the  vanity  of  riches  (vanity  of  hoarding  them, 
vanity  of  expending  them),  keep  at  bay  the  tyranny  of 
anxieties,  the  terror  of  losing  property;  and  protect  you 
from  the  weariness  of  labour  and  the  loneliness  of  a  life 
whose  only  care  is  to  increase  its  store.  Glorious  and 
bright-eyed  are  these  guests  of  the  soul !  They  will  save 
you  from  the  ruin  which  falls  on  poor  and  rich  alike  who 
have  been  "  not  slothful  in  business,"  but  have  never  been 
fervent  in  spirit,  nor  have  served  the  Lord. 

And  then  in  trouble,  as  well  as  in  temptation,  you  have 
these  powers  as  your  great  allies. 

Often  in  such  trouble  as  illness,  you  are  thrown  out 
of  work.  If  business  be  your  all  in  all,  what  are  you  to 
do  ?  There  you  lie,  chafing  on  your  couch,  querulous 
because  you  miss  your  daily  work,  bored  to  death — a 
melancholy  picture,  and  one  that  deserves  but  little  pity, 
for  it  is  your  own  fault.  You  have  lost  the  powers  of 
youth  and  not  anticipated  those  of  age.  Had  you  kept 
the  joy  of  love,  the  capacity  for  dreaming,  the  desire 
of  beauty,  the  fervour  of  heart  which  inspires  life,  the 
passion  of  the  ideal;  had  you  in  your  soul  some  service 
of  God,  some  desire  to  bless  mankind  with  the  love  of 
Jesus  Christ,  do  you  think  you  would  lie  there  complain- 
ing, more  like  a  wounded  animal  than  a  man?  Why, 
your  life  would  be  as  full  as  if  you  were  in  the  very  express 
of  business  ! 


Middle  Age. — Not  Slothful  in  Business.      209 

And  the  deeper  troubles  which  beset  the  human  heart, 
which,  while  we  are  driven  to  do  our  daily  business,  we 
carry  with  us  at  home  or  abroad,  deep  down  within— 
the  devourers  of  life — these  finally  kill  if  they  are  continued. 
Work  only  dulls  them  for  a  time,  and  through  the  day ;  they 
pierce  with  their  hornet  sting  at  night !  Nor  does  work 
relieve  them ;  and  when  they  make  it  wearisome,  and, 
in  the  end,  cause  us  to  do  it  badly,  then  work  itself — being 
ill  done,  and  we  being  conscious  of  its  weakness — becomes 
a  fresh  trouble,  and  adds  itself  to  the  others.  Then,  when 
work  has  failed,  what  remains  ?  Nothing ;  and  the  man 
burns  out  like  a  fire  in  a  swift  wind.  I  have  seen  it  only 
too  often  ! 

But  this  is  not  the  case  if  we  have  kept  the  powers  of  our 
youth.  The  memory  of  joy  is  in  itself  a  joy — a  refuge  from 
pain,  a  shadow  from  the  heat,  a  shelter  as  of  a  great  rock  in 
a  weary  land.  The  power  of  loving  sustains  a  happiness  in 
sorrow,  and  keeps  us  capable  of  hope.  There  is  no  trouble, 
we  think,  which  may  not  be — if  we  bear  it  nobly — of  use 
to  the  race  of  men ;  and  in  that  outward  thought  we 
lose  the  overwhelming  of  self-thought,  and  pardon  our  pain 
in  the  knowledge  that  it  will  bring  a  good  to  man.  The 
fervour  in  our  heart  upraises  us  above  our  torment; 
imagination  opens  to  us  her  glorious  world.  We  are  cast 
down,  but  not  destroyed.  We  live  on,  and  win  out  of 
trouble  into  sunny  life  again. 

Still  less  does  trouble  overwhelm  us  if  we  have  faith 
in  God.  Always  in  our  ears  are  the  words  of  Christ — "  In 
this  world  ye  shall  have  tribulation,  but  be  of  good  cheer,  I 
have  overcome  the  world." 


2io      Middle  Age. — Not  Slothful  in  Business. 

Our  trouble  is  in  God's  will,  and  it  is  His  will  that  we 
should  despise  its  power  to  subdue  the  soul — extract  its 
power  to  develop  the  soul.  All  trouble  has  its  need  in  the 
mind  of  God.  It  is  to  do  some  good,  to  bring  some  power 
to  others,  to  ennoble  or  to  make  happier  some  who  are 
ignoble  or  unhappy.  "  My  God,"  we  then  cry,  "take  me — 
use  me  for  mankind  !  Give  me  Thy  companionship,  that  I 
may  bear,  work  through,  and  conquer  all  the  evil  in  my 
sorrow !  Give  me  love,  that  I  may  make  my  pain  into  the 
power  of  help  !  " 

He  who  can  so  believe  and  so  love '  is  not  beaten  in  the 
midst  of  business  by  any  pain  whatever. 

Finally,  business  power  is  not  lessened  in  this  life. 
Nay,  it  is  increased.  Fervour  of  heart  will  stimulate 
all  your  powers.  Your  intellect  will  be  quicker  to  do 
the  work  of  the  world,  and  your  mind,  through  the  pene- 
tration of  the  heart,  more  fitted  to  discover  men  who 
can  be  your  helpers.  A  finer  imagination  will  discover 
more  fields  of  business,  and  you  will  expand  your  work. 
The  dreams  and  ideals  you  possess  will  ennoble  your 
business,  and  make  it  delightful.  It  will  take  into  it  so 
high  a  thought  and  so  profound  a  feeling,  when  it 
takes  into  it  as  an  end  the  bettering  and  progress  of  man, 
that  it  can  never  become  a  weariness,  nor  you  be  ever  solitary 
in  it.  You  will  be  bright,  uplifted,  at  rest,  and  capable  of 
joy,  even  to  the  end. 

And  God  will  bless  your  wrork  with  the  power  of 
bestowing  pleasure,  because  it  is  done,  not  for  yourself 
alone,  but  for  the  use  and  joy  and  growth  of  all  His 
children;  and  the  blessing  will  fall  back  upon  your  own 


Middle  Age. — Not  Slothful  in  Business.      211 

heart  and  make  you  happy.  And  happiness  within — 
is  not  that  the  climate  in  which  business  is  least  sloth- 
ful, done  in  the  finest  fashion,  finished — because  of  the 
pleasure  in  it — to  the  remotest  fibre,  polished  to  the  nail  ? 

This  is  the  life  I  lay  before  you.  It  is  true  you  will  make 
less  money ;  you  may  not  reach  the  social  height  others 
reach  ;  the  world  of  society  and  of  wealth  may  not  court 
you  •  but  all  the  question  lies  in  this — what  is  a  man's  life  ? 
Is  it  in  the  things  he  possesses,  or  is  it  in  what  he  is  ?  Is  it 
in  having  money  and  fame  and  the  approval  of  the  world 
or  is  it  in  joy,  in  beauty,  in  imagination's  world,  in  the  love 
of  mankind  and  the  power  of  loving,  in  a  heart  at  peace,  in 
the  companionship  of  God,  in  the  life  of  Jesus  Christ,  in  the 
spirit  which  can  rejoice  to  say,  "  I  wish  to  live  and  love  for 
ever"? 


O    2 


212 


[March  II,  1883.] 
OLD  AGE.— SERVING   THE  LORD. 

"  Not  slothful  in  business  ;  fervent  in  spirit  ;  serving  the  Lord."- 
ROMANS  xii.  ii. 

OUR  text  has  been  concerned  with  three  periods  of  life, 
with  their  special  powers  and  work.  Of  youth  and  its 
fervour  we  have  spoken,  of  middle-age  and  its  activity.  Our 
subject  now  is  old  age  and  its  special  service  of  the  Lord. 
But  the  principle  laid  down  did  not  assert  that  in  old  age 
alone  we  were  to  serve  the  Lord,  or  that  in  old  age  we  could 
not  be  active  or  fervent  in  spirit.  On  the  contrary,  it 
averred  that  while  each  period  had  a  pre-eminent  aim  of 
its  own,  it  could  not  develop  it  in  the  best  possible  way 
unless  the  pre-eminent  interests  of  the  two  other  periods 
were  taken  into  it ;  nay,  more,  that  youth,  manhood,  and 
old  age  were  each  incomplete  and  even  fruitless,  unless  the 
powers  of  the  three  were  bound  together. 

When  youth  passed  away,  its  special  pleasures,  its  outward 
manners  and  work  passed  with  it.  But  if  it  had  brought 
down  into  its  life  some  of  the  serious  activity  which 
belongs  to  manhood,  and  something  of  the  quiet  consecra- 
tion of  old  age  to  the  service  of  the  Lord ;  then — though 
its  outward  elements  were  left  behind — all  that  was  enduring 
in  its  fervour  passed  on  into  manhood,  and  became  in 
the  midst  of  its  unslothful  activity  a  spirit  of  life,  aspira 


Old  Age. — Serving  the  Lord.  213 

tion  and  love  which  guarded  heavy  labour  from  many 
dangers.  But  manhood,  thus  preserving  what  was  best  in 
youth,  was  not  content  with  that  alone  ;  it  borrowed  from 
old  age  the  special  aim  of  old  age;  it  hallowed  all  its  busi- 
ness with  that  serving  of  the  Lord  which  makes  business 
not  a  serving  of  self,  but  a  service  of  mankind.  And 
this  was  easy  in  manhood,  because  the  serving  of  the 
Lord  had  begun  in  youth  and  was  supported  through  man- 
hood by  the  unselfish  ardour  of  youth. 

So  now,  when  age  has  come  and  the  excitement  of  youth 
is  long  gone  by,  and  business  has  been  laid  aside,  the 
serving  of  the  Lord,  the  purpose  and  delight  of  age,  is  not 
difficult  to  accomplish  strongly  or  to  feel  passionately.  It  is 
no  sudden  thing  taken  up  in  a  moment;  it  has  begun 
where  the  stream  of  life  rushed  forth,  on  the  hills  of 
childhood,  and  kept  company  with  the  waters  as  they 
sprang  from  rock  to  rock  in  the  gladness  of  their  youth. 
It  went  with  the  river  when  it  flowed,  a  fuller  and  a  fuller 
tide,  through  the  fertile  meadows  and  past  the  busy  towns 
of  manhood.  It  is  with  old  age  still,  its  most  beloved 
companion,  as  slowly  flowing,  but  deep  and  full,  it  nears 
the  ocean  of  eternity.  The  habit  of  life  has  been  to 
serve  the  Lord,  and  now  the  time  has  come  for  the 
fulfilled  development  of  this  service ;  it  takes  the  foremost 
place  in  the  finishing  of  life. 

But  the  service  of  God  does  not  stand  alone  in  old  age. 
The  spirit  of  the  ardour  of  youth  has  been  carried  into 
manhood ;  it  is  still  borne  onward  into  old  age.  Nor  does  the 
activity  of  manhood,  idealized  by  the  ardour  of  youth,  die 
with  the  dying  of  the  work  of  manhood.  It,  too,  is  carried 


214  Old  Age. — Serving  the  Lord. 

into  old  age.  It  is  then  that  old  age  is  perfect.  Old  age  is 
not  the  decaying  of  the  man ;  it  is  his  highest  reach  on  earth  ; 
the  completion  of  all  periods  in  one,  the  crown  of  life.  This 
is  the  fine  doctrine  of  continuity — the  historical  continuity 
of  personality ;  each  period  of  life  knit  to  each,  the  powers 
and  practice,  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  each  time  woven 
in  and  through  one  another,  so  that  the  growth  is  as  natural, 
as  successive,  as  steady,  as  beautiful  and  as  finished  as  the 
growth  of  a  great  tree. 

These  are  the  things  to  be  expanded.  And  first  take  the 
contrast.  Look  at  old  age  which  has  come  on  a  man  when 
none  of  this  previous  work  has  been  done. 

I  described  what  manhood  was  when  all  that  belonged 
to  youth  had  been  squandered,  so  that  none  of  youth's 
fine  spirit  was  carried  on  into  the  graver  activities  of  middle 
age — a  manhood  subject  to  the  transient  world,  worshipping 
the  idol  of  wealth,  enslaved  by  dreary  cares,  corrupted  with 
work  which  turns  into  a  disease ;  without  the  joy  of  love, 
abandoned  of  romance,  undone  of  dreams,  having  no  ideals, 
disbelieving  in  aspirations  ;  successful  without,  ruined  within  ; 
and  when  old  age  touches  it,  exhausted. 

What  kind  of  an  old  age  is  that  which  follows  ?  It  has 
none  of  the  spirit  of  youth  in  it.  The  man  hates  his  old 
age,  and  hates  it  all  the  more  when  he  remembers  his  youth  : 
for  he  thinks  how  much  he  hoped  for,  how  passionately  he 
wrought  and  felt,  how  eager  was  his  love,  how  high  were  his 
ideals,  how  bright  were  the  wings  of  joy  on  which  he  was 
borne  along.  And  now — it  is  all  gone  !  Not  one  trace  of 
it  remains  within  ;  not  one  ray  of  it  is  shining  on  his 
heart.  And  as  his  nature  is  either  stern  or  soft,  so  does  he 


Old  Age. — Serving  the  Lord.  2 1 5 

turn  in  age  to  fruitless  scorn  or  to  fruitless  sorrow — sour 
scorn  of  the  ancient  time  when  he  believed  and  loved  and 
dreamed — for  has  it  not  all  proved  false,  is  it  not  all  outworn, 
all  turned  into  evil  ? 

"  Virtue  !  to  be  good  and  just  ! 

Every  heart  when  sifted  well, 
Is  a  clot  of  warmer  dust 

Mixed  with  cunning  sparks  of  hell." 

Or,  it  is  not  scorn,  but  bitter  and  miserable  sorrow  to 
feel  that  all  is  gone  by,  save  vain  regrets,  vain  longing  for 
the  swift  foot  and  the  quick  heart,  hungry  wailing  for  the 
days  that  are  no  more — till  the  corrupting  apathy  that  waits 
for  death  deepens  in  his  soul,  or  the  nameless  horror  of 
death  rules  him  like  a  tyrant,  crying  out — "  In  me  there  will 
not  even  be  the  memory  of  fire  and  joy." 

Nor  has  this  dreary  old  age  the  powers  of  manhood  in  it. 
For  the  man  having  had  no  youth  in  his  manhood,  has  had 
nothing  to  lift  his  work  over  monotony,  and  when  he  can 
do  it  no  more,  is  weary  of  it  even  to  sickness,  and  yet  more 
weary  of  not  having  it  to  do.  He  misses  his  labour,  yet 
hates  it ;  strives  to  do  it,  but  gives  up  striving.  His  life  is 
now  so  empty  that,  when  he  is  not  half  mad  with  the  lone- 
liness of  doing  nothing,  he  half  maddens  others  with 
irritability  and  complaint,  with  all  the  misery  and  misery- 
making  of  angry  impotence.  He  has  neither  fervour  of 
heart,  nor  capacity  for  activity — neither  youth  nor  manhood 
in  old  age. 

And  does  he  serve  the  Lord?  Is  he  fit  to  fulfil  the 
perfect  work  of  the  last  years  of  life  ?  Not  he  !  He  has 
neither  served  the  Lord  through  youth  nor  manhood.  He 


216  Old  Age. — Serving  the  Lord. 

is  not  likely  to  do  so  now  with  any  joy  or  peace.  There 
are  those  who  cannot  begin  to  search  for  God  if  they  have 
neglected  Him  all  their  life.  It  is  too  late.  The  ground 
within  is  too  hard,  too  beaten  down  with  the  trampling  of 
battering  days  to  receive  the  seed  of  God ;  or  too  choked 
with  the  thorns  and  thistles  of  selfish  worldliness  to  let 
the  seed  grow,  even  should  it  creep  into  the  soil.  Others  do 
not  care.  "  Death  is  coming  fast.  Let  me  eat  and  drink," 
they  say,  "  for  to-morrow  I  die."  It  is  as  common  a  cry  in 
chilly  age  as  in  hot-hearted  youth.  If  the  old  have  none  of 
youth's  spiritual  fervour,  they  will  seek  what  sensual  fervour 
there  may  yet  be  left.  If  they  have  no  romance  within, 
there  is  still  "  savoury  venison  such  as  my  soul  loveth."  If 
they  can  be  active  no  more  to  win  money,  they  can  console 
themselves  with  contemplating  it.  "  At  least,  I  shall  die 
rich,"  they  say,  "  and  to  walk  among  my  barns  warms  my 
heart."  In  these  lives  God  does  not  abide.  They  cannot 
serve  the  Lord ;  and  they  die  alone,  looking  out  into  dark- 
ness, insatiably  clinging  to  life  like  a  drowning  sailor  to  the 
rock  against  which  the  waves  are  breaking  him  to  pieces. 

Some,  however,  do  succeed  in  finding  God  their  Father, 
though  they  have  not  served  Him  in  the  past.  But  with 
what  pain,  with  what  trouble  is  the  work  done  ?  For  all 
the  hard  ground  of  the  old  life  has  to  be  broken  up,  and 
this  is  terrible  work  for  an  old  man.  Or  if  he  have  not 
the  strong  nature  which  needs  this  rough  ploughing,  and 
have  a  nature  either  dull  or  weak,  how  little  joy  he  has 
in  serving  God  !  How  lifeless  now  are  all  his  efforts ! 
How  dimly,  as  through  a  window  of  horn,  does  he  see  the 
celestial  city  and  the  face  of  God  !  And  what  regret  they 


Old  Age. — Serving  the  Lord.  217 

both  possess.  For  they  have  only  the  dregs  of  life  to  offer 
to  their  Father ;  and  though  He  accepts  them  with  infinite 
love,  yet,  in  proportion  as  they  feel  His  love,  have  they  the 
sorrow  of  loving  Him  all  too  kte ;  of  having  but  little 
fervour  to  give,  little  work  of  which  they  are  now  capable. 
A  maimed,  imperfect,  joyless,  regretful  old  age. 

ii.  It  should  be  different :  it  is  different  for  those  who 
have  added  the  serving  of  the  Lord  to  the  ardour  of  youth, 
and  ennobled  with  it  the  business  of  middle  age.  God  has 
been  dear  to  them  in  the  past ;  He  is  dearer  now.  Com- 
munion with  Him  has  made  youth  sweeter,  brighter,  holier ; 
manhood  wiser,  more  loving,  more  ideal :  while  tempted, 
conquering ;  while  troubled,  still  at  peace.  And  now  the 
hour  is  come  when  we  may  draw  still  nearer  to  Him  whom 
we  have  served  all  our  life  long.  The  noise  of  life  is  over, 
and  we  can  listen,  far  apart,  to  the  "  undisturbed  song  of 
pure  concent."  The  temptations  of  life  are  no  more.  They 
lie  dead,  like  the  Egyptians  on  the  sea-shore,  and  in  our 
hearts  is  the  song  of  Miriam — "  Sing  ye  to  the  Lord,  for  He 
hath  triumphed  gloriously  ;  the  horse  and  his  rider  hath  He 
thrown  into  the  sea.  Not  unto  us,  O  Lord,  not  unto  us, 
but  unto  Thy  name  be  the  praise."  The  troubles  of  life 
are  no  more  trouble.  They  have  been  transmuted  into 
inward  powers.  The  cares  of  life  are  fled  away  ;  they  are 
with  God,  cast  on  Him,  for  He  careth  for  us.  All  is  deep 
peace  ;  and  we  say  to  ourselves  as  we  go  to  rest  each  night, 
and  it  is  both  prayer  and  praise — "  He  maketh  the  storm  a 
calm,  so  that  the  waves  thereof  are  still.  Then  are  they 
glad  because  they  are  at  rest,  so  He  bringeth  them  to  the 
haven  where  they  would  be."  Then  we  know  the  meaning  of 


218  Old  Age.— Serving  the  Lord. 

Immanuel — God  with  us  ;  deep,  ineffable,  unbroken,  eternal 
communion  with  God,  as  of  friend  with  friend,  so  that  we 
have  the  dearest  affection  of  manhood  with  Him ;  as  of 
Teacher  with  pupil  still,  so  that  we  feel  young  again  with 
Him  ;  as  of  Father  with  child,  so  that,  in  the  winter  of  age, 
we  walk  with  Him  through  the  fields  of  childhood,  till,  in 
this  communion  with  Him  who  is  for  ever  old  and  for  ever 
young,  we  know  no  fixity  of  feeling  as  to  youth,  or  middle- 
age,  or  old  age,  but  live  in  that  eternity  of  God  which  keeps 
the  powers  of  all  the  three. 

And  it  is  in  and  through  this  deep  communion  that  we 
at  last  understand  that  saying  of  St.  Paul's — "  Now  abideth 
Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity,  these  three;  but  the  greatest 
of  these  is  Charity." 

The  Hope  which  was  so  plentiful  in  youth  is  no  longer 
with  us  in  age.  It  was  hope  for  things  belonging  to  this 
world,  and  for  our  own  inner  life  ;  and  as  to  the  things  of 
this  world,  we  have  passed  through  them ;  and  as  to  our 
own  inner  life,  we  have  attained  the  things  we  hoped  for 
when  we  were  young.  Hope,  therefore,  unless  we  are  very 
anxious  to  live  on— and  some  have  that  desire — does  not 
much  trouble  old  age.  Or,  if  we  hope,  it  is  not  for  our- 
selves, but  for  others.  And,  indeed,  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  things  which  can  belong  to  old  age,  and  which 
is  as  fair  for  others  to  see  as  it  is  for  the  old  themselves  to 
feel,  is  its  happy  hopefulness  for  others.  It  loses  all  trouble 
at  the  defeat  of  bygone  hopes  in  the  joy  with  which  it 
prophecies  the  success,  and  cheers  the  despondency,  of  the 
young.  "  Let  me  abide  in  my  own  hopes  no  more,"  cries 
the  old  man  "and  be  troubled  with  them  no  more.  But  in 


l/<'  VI] 

f&l        J 

\^':     '^ 

Old  Age. — Serving  the  Lord.  219 

the  new  hopes  of  the  world,  I  live.  In  all  the  expectations 
of  mankind,  in  the  poetry,  romance,  dreams,  and  ideals  of 
youth,  I  will  abide  and  sympathize." 

So  also  is  it  with  Faith.  All  that  the  old  man  once  saw 
far  off,  and  believed  in,  is  now  his  own.  He  has  the  sub- 
stance. The  eternal  world  is  in  him.  God  needs  no 
proof;  for  he  is  in  God,  and  God  in  him.  But,  as  before  it 
was  with  hope,  so  is  it  now  with  faith.  No  longer  personal, 
it  passes  out  of  himself  and  becomes  active  for  others.  He 
believes  in  men  and  for  men  ;  and  his  faith  for  them,  living 
in  them,  cheers,  uplifts,  and  sends  them  forward  when  they 
faint  in  the  race,  or  weary  in  the  battle. 

But  it  is  not  so  with  Love.  Love  not  only  passes  from 
him  to  the  outer  world,  but  abides  within  him.  Indeed,  I 
may  express  what  I  have  said  about  hope  and  faith  by 
saying  that  they  have  changed  into  love ;  or,  better,  that 
they  have  become  new  powers  of  love.  Love  within,  filling 
the  old  man's  soul,  is  his  very  life  ;  felt  in  silence,  when  he 
sits  apart  as  in  youthful  sunshine ;  flowing  through  every 
memory,  kindling  in  every  thought ;  making  tender  every 
book  he  reads,  every  soul  he  meets,  every  changing  of  the 
sky,  every  music  in  his  ear.  For  nothing  happens  hour  by 
hour,  into  which  does  not  pour,  out  of  the  long  experi- 
ences of  feeling,  a  freshening  tide  of  loving  thoughts,  of 
soft  and  fair  associations. 

This  inner  life  of  love  passes  from  him  outwards,  and 
is  like  a  summer  atmosphere  in  which  his  home  and  friends 
are  warmed  and  made  more  happy ;  in  which  sorrows 
and  pains  are  healed,  and  mercy  poured  on  wrong,  and  sins 
covered,  and  quarrels  laid  by,  and  injuries  forgotten.  An 


22O  Old  Age. — Serving  the  Lord. 

exquisite  gentleness,  a  mellowed  justice,  an  inexhaustible 
forgiveness  are  the  old  man's  heritage ;  and  they  are  given 
to  all  around  him,  so  that  they  enter  into  all.  This  life,  so 
lived,  is  like  an  image  of  God  with  man ;  and  in  truth  it  is 
the  spirit  of  the  Father  rising  like  light  and  life  from  the 
depths  of  the  old  man's  heart,  and  pouring  itself  forth  into 
the  world.  One  ancient  story  represents  the  whole.  It 
was  the  custom  of  the  disciples  of  St.  John,  when  he 
had  passed  the  age  of  ninety  and  could  scarcely  speak  to 
them,  to  carry  the  aged  apostle  every  day  into  the  church, 
and  to  lay  him  in  their  midst.  And  the  old  man  contented 
himself  with  stretching  forth  his  hands  towards  the  crowd, 
and  saying  to  them,  "  Little  children,  love  one  another." 
And  being  asked  why  he  said  nothing  else,  he  answered, 
"  That  if  they  truly  did  so,  it  were  enough." 

And  in  and  through  all  this  life  is  the  deepening  of 
personality.  None  of  these  things  that  the  old  man  feels 
are  new,  in  the  sense  that  they  are  only  now  beginning  to 
act,  or  to  be  felt.  They  have  acted  and  been  felt  from 
the  beginning.  Youth  has  had  them  ;  manhood  has  had 
them ;  and  now  old  age  has  them  more  fully  still.  This 
is  their  flower.  Hence  the  sense  of  continuity  in  life,  on 
which  I  have  already  touched,  deepens  ;  and,  with  the  feeling 
that  the  whole  of  life  is  wrought  together  into  one  harmoni- 
ous whole,  the  conviction  of  personality  is  increased. 
And  this  personality  is  felt  to  be  from  God,  and  to  abide 
in  God.  The  old  man  knows  that  God  has  been  the  living 
warp  upon  which  the  pattern  of  his  life  has,  from  beginning 
to  end,  been  woven. 

And  now,  what  is  the  deep,  the  exciting  knowledge  which 


Old  Age. — Serving  the  Lord.  221 

grows  out  of  that  conviction  of  the  continuity  of  personality 
from  youth  to  age,  and  out  of  its  divine  foundation?  It  is 
this — That  decay  cannot  injure  or  death  destroy  a  life 
which  has  cost  so  much  trouble  to  weave  together 
into  continuity.  And  doubling  that  conviction,  as  it 
were  with  tenfold  proof,  is  the  strange  and  glorious  thing 
often  revealed  to  us  in  old  age — that  neither  youth  nor 
manhood  are  the  times  in  which  the  graces  and  gifts  which 
are  highest  in  man  reach  their  full  perfection.  It  is 
now,  now  that  the  man  is  old,  now  that  decay  and  death  are 
near,  that  the  best  things  are  in  flower — love,  mercy, 
righteousness,  joy,  peace,  humanity — and  the  more 
perfect  they  are,  the  more  they  carry  with  them  the  con- 
viction of  their  immortality. 

That  glorious  conviction,  now  established,  makes  all  these 
graces  and  gifts  more  perfect.  And  then,  old  age,  that  so 
many  vainly  pity,  goes  on  its  way  down  hill,  upborne  by 
two  companions,  joy  and  peace,  and  feeling  in  every  touch 
of  decay  of  body,  in  every  warning  that  death  gives,  not  the 
approach  of  dissolution,  but  a  prophecy  of  everlasting 
life. 

This  is  old  age  serving  the  Lord.  It  seems  to  be  only 
contemplation,  to  be  all  an  inner  life.  But  no !  Into  this 
serving  of  the  Lord  is  carried  onwards  the  activity  of  man- 
hood. Age  has  its  own  business,  and  it  will  now  be  done 
with  activity — business  of  cheering,  of  comforting,  of  im- 
pelling, of  using  experience  for  help,  of  being  a  centre  of 
peace,  a  living  witness  to  righteousness  and  the  beauty  of 
righteousness,  of  hoping  and  believing  for  others  till  they 
believe  and  hope  for  themselves.  And  in  all  this  business 


222  Old  Age. — Serving  the  Lord. 

the  old  man  is  not  slothful.  For  all  the  habit  of  his  man- 
hood cleaves  to  him,  and  to  the  last  he  works  in  this  noble 
and  quiet  way ;  and  feels  again  in  this  bearing  into  old  age 
of  the  powers  of  manhood,  the  continuity  and  deepening  of 
personality. 

Nor  is  youth  unrepresented. 

Its  joy  remains.  The  old  man's  spirit  has  never  ceased 
to  be  fervent.  Through  manhood  his  youth  has  lived 
continuously.  Here  it  is  still,  in  old  age.  Often,  in  memory, 
in  dreams,  all  the  romance  of  early  life  is  present,  and 
his  heart  beats  as  fast  in  age  as  in  the  days  of  old.  Still 
undiminished,  even  deepened,  is  the  love  of  beauty.  Even 
in  the  hour  of  death  the  face  lights  up  with  joy,  thinking  of 
the  summer  fields  and  the  flying  clouds,  and  the  rolling  of 
the  sea.  And  passionate  feeling,  felt  through  all  beauty, 
kindled  when  hearing  of  some  great  and  noble  action,  brings 
tears  to  the  eyes,  as  warm  as  those  which  filled  the  eyes  of 
youth. 

Nor  yet  do  dreams  for  the  future  of  the  world  die  in  old 
age.  They  also  are  here ;  but  they  have  changed  their 
object.  Once  they  were  for  the  human  life  of  the  man 
himself,  and  for  all  he  would  do ;  or  for  the  human  race, 
and  for  all  that  it  would  develop  in  the  future.  Now,  he 
dreams  of  all  he  will  be,  and  of  all  mankind  will  be, 
in  the  greater,  larger  world  beyond  this  earth.  And 
these  visions  are  as  glorious,  as  brightly  coloured,  as 
the  dreams  of  youth,  and  far  more  certain  of  fulfilment. 
And  as  to  the  ideals  to  which  he  aspired  when  young,  he 
knows  he  is  to  find  them  absolutely  fulfilled  in  the  future 
world.  He  will  touch,  and  realize,  and  become  at  one  with 


Old  Age. — Serving  the  Lord.  223 

perfect  self-sacrifice,  absolute  love,  essential  truth,  eternal 
knowledge  —  those  divine  things  which  here  on  earth 
he  knew  only  in  part,  and  saw,  darkly,  as  through  a 
glass. 

So  falls  on  him,  while  still  he  is  here,  the  radiance  of  the 
other  world.  In  the  depths  of  his  soul  are  all  the  rapture 
of  youth,  all  the  strength  of  manhood.  Neither  youth  nor 
manhood  have  more  excited  imaginations,  more  of  all  the 
powers  of  life,  more  of  all  the  rushing  fire  of  love,  than  the 
old  man  has  now  within  himself,  when,  like  the  sea-king  of 
old,  he  is  laid  in  the  bosom  of  the  ship  beneath  the 
mast,  with  the  golden  flag  flying  above  his  head,  and  sent 
forth  alone  into  the  sea  of  eternity  to  meet  God,  and 
with  Him  to  live  for  ever — not  slothful  in  business ;  fervent 
in  spirit ;  serving  the  Lord. 


Henderson,  Rait,  &•  Sfalding,  Printers,  3  &•  j,  Marylelwie  T.ane, 


JUST  PUBLISHED. 


SUNSHINE  AND  SHADOW. 


from  ttjc 

OF   THE 

REV.    STOPFORD   A.   BROOKE,   M.A. 

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